


Hairspray and Heartache

by WriterChick



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Beautiful Golden Fools, F/M, Jealousy, Modern AU, Possessiveness, Rock and Roll, Sibling Incest, Smutt, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21550138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/pseuds/WriterChick
Summary: Golden Gods of Rock take the stage to tell the story of the things they do for love.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister
Comments: 124
Kudos: 93





	1. Defile Me

“Deeeee-file me!” 

It always tickled my eardrums and gave me a shiver when he hit that note. Thankfully, everyone was too wrapped up in him to notice. Who could blame them? Jaime Lannister-- _ himself _ , stood before them, belting out one of our chart-toppers. 

“Put your hands on me, girl!” 

The crowd went wild watching him stalk across the stage, strumming his guitar. He was like a jungle cat, the muscles in his back and arms flexing with each movement. It was quite a performance, and it left a sea of clits throbbing. Mine definitely included. He stopped in front of the mic, to sing, “Oh, can’t you please?” 

Pausing for dramatic effect, he grinned as he pointed out to the thousands of fans gathered under the dome. They were only too happy to sing back, “ _ Defile me! _ ”

“Whoa!” The rest of the band and I screamed into our own mics as backup. I tried--and failed--not to eyeball-fuck him too much while the world was watching. 

I’m not a woman easily swayed by star power either. Having grown up in the industry, various music legends were always over for dinner. It wasn’t the power of the stage either, turning mediocre looking men into Adonises. No, I’ve been wet for Jaime since I started wanting dick. In fact, I’m pretty sure the first time I rubbed one out was to Jaime’s ass in a pair of Levi’s. He had been going through a cowboy phase that summer. Trust me, it was yum. 

“Take me! Oh, take me! Take my choice. Have your way. And-” 

He turned the mic to the crowd as they again, sang, “Defile me!”

We’re in this band together, and though he’s our lead singer, this band wouldn’t be shit without me either. So I can say with full confidence that it’s not some inferiority complex that makes me see him as a golden god up here on stage with us. It’s that he shines so much brighter than everyone else ever has or ever will. At six-four, his tanned muscular build turns heads. His bright green eyes stop me dead in my tracks and his cocky smile promises he’ll live up to every word in this song and all the others I’ve written about him. 

His long blond hair flies through the air with every head bang to the beat, damp tendrils sticking to his back, barely obscuring his tattoos. Tattoos he got for me. His tight leather pants cradle his substantial bulge to let the ladies fantasize, but I know just exactly what he’s packing. And let me tell you, it’s left me sore more than a time or two. He’s shirtless tonight, teasing us all with the V of his pelvis sticking out of his waistband. Sometimes he wears concert tees with the sleeves cut off, letting the audience play peek-a-boo with his ribcage and the lipstick kiss tattoo on his left side. 

In case you’re wondering, yes, those are my lips immortalized on his flesh forever. But, that’s beside the point. When he bothers with a shirt, he’s pretty selective. He only wears the ones that advertise for the bands we’ve partied with. It’s good press, something my father cares a lot about. He manages our band--I did mention growing up in the industry, didn’t I? Jaime’s perfectly sculpted body is apparently part of our brand, and therefore heavily endorsed by daddy. The leather bustier and spiked dog collar I’m sporting is too, though it wasn’t always. Our image used to be a lot more wholesome before I fucked it all up with one hasty, rebellious choice a few years back.

Jaime turns the mic back to himself and takes over again, “Brand me yours.” He chuckles suggestively before adding, “ _ Touch me! _ ”

_ Gladly _ , I smirk to myself. My palm slides along the back of my bass’s neck and my fingers fondle each fret as if they’re the natural bumps and ridges of his velvety shaft. His ass flexes as he thrusts into his guitar and as long as I still have him like this, I don’t care that we’ve sold out--our act was never genuine anyway. 

I was never a struggling artist, clawing my way out of a garage band, gig by gig. No, it was decided that I would be iconic while I was still in utero. So naturally, I’ve been on the stage playing to an audience since I was in huggies. There is very little real in my life. My mother was a model and though I’m certain my father married her for his image, he actually preferred having her around. She was the trophy he couldn’t seem to leave on the shelf. 

It was strange that someone in this industry--especially a supermodel--would want her children around, but she did. I guess she wasn’t as vapid as you’d think. So anyway, if daddykins wanted marital bliss, he had to accept her toting the kids along while she hung off his arm. That meant I was learning how to walk on red carpets and perfecting an unimposing giggle for televised interviews before I could even talk.

My childhood was spent fearing that I might breathe too hard and bust a seam on a dress I was literally taped and sewn into, and rubbing Vaseline over my teeth to smile wider in case anyone was looking. My mother saw potential in her children, and father saw the dollar signs associated. 

It only got worse after she died while giving birth to my youngest brother. The doc said she couldn’t be saved. Who the hell dies in childbirth anymore? This isn’t the dark ages for fuck’s sake. 

My brother lived, of course. Because fate enjoys a good dry-fuck when it’s my ass on the line. To add insult to injury, that lucky little murderer was saved from a life in the limelight. Born a dwarf--I can’t make this shit up--he’s too ugly to put in front of a camera. He’s got a brain, however, and it’s honestly the only thing that keeps him in the family at all. If he didn’t make money for father in other ways, I’m 99.9% sure that he would have been dropped off curbside somewhere to ‘sink or swim,’ as father likes to say. 

Jaime’s my only escape, which is screwed up because he’s always right here in the middle of the mess with me. At least he takes the edge off. “Touch me,” he repeats, waggling his eyebrows. “Everywhere you can’t!” 

Time for female vocals. I inhale deeply before I go for the notes everyone expects from me, “ _ Everywhere I need! _ ” 

Jaime closes his eyes and groans like he’s having sex, only it’s amplified by the wall of speakers behind us so everyone can hear and puddle their panties over--which they do. I know this because the whole front row yanks their tops off in a wave of lust, screaming out the lyrics along with us. I bite the inside of my cheek and smile to myself. I knew this song was hot when I wrote it, and shit like this just confirms it. 

A wall of naked tits stare us in the face and Jaime glances back my way. I give him a smile that says,  _ See? Told you.  _ Because I’m not above bragging.

He flashes me his cat-like grin that says,  _ Right as always _ , and purrs into the mic, “Give me all your sin.”

“ _Yes!_ _Please,_ ” I sing on behalf of women everywhere.

The crowd roars it’s agreement and more articles of clothing fly through the air to land on stage. 

“Defile me, baby!” Jaime says, winking into the camera drone that floats by before spinning around and flipping his hair over his shoulder. 

The lights flashed red and purple, signalling Addam to run out to center stage with his guitar solo. He steps forward and I let my fingers fall into background repetition. This was his show, and I was just there for emphasis. Which, usually I’d say ‘screw that’ but this was about the music and even I could appreciate a good sound when we made it. Solos are not to be fucked with and bassists don’t solo--unless you’re Stu Hamm circa 1988, which I most definitely am not. I only picked up the bass guitar as a way to piss father off, and as it turns out, I was actually pretty decent at it. 

The crowd pulsed as Addam hit his whammy bar hard and finished up what would be his last concert with us. Father decided that despite his obvious talent, Addam didn’t fit our brand. He was too ‘bad attitude’ and not enough ‘sex on a stick.’ Which was complete bullshit because Addam tapped as much ass as anyone on the road. Just because he didn’t prance around the stage like Jaime did, didn’t mean the man didn’t draw his own crowd of groupies. 

Jaime was all kinds of pissed, but like a true showman, he channeled that anger into his performance and smiled even wider than usual, revving the fans up with his canines and the glimmer of passion in his eyes. 

I love him more than anyone could possibly love another, and us working alongside each other only made our attraction all the more difficult to ignore. To say that we gave in, is an understatement. We nosedived off that cliff and welcomed the fall, not giving a damn about the rocks below. If we hit bottom, we’d suffer the splatter together.

“Don’t give me sweet sugar--don’t bother with  _ kind _ . Don’t want gentle kisses and makin’ love. It all just fades away, anyway,” Jaime sings my lyrics, sharing my confession. He strums his own guitar for a second, taking quiet ownership of every word, and lowers his voice. “Make it dirty. Make it last.” 

My tits could cut glass. There’s power in hearing your thoughts and feelings spoken aloud for the world to hear--and buy a million copies of--in the unrepentant voice of your secret lover. If anyone ever found out about us, there would be a lot more at stake than the band breaking up. It’s why I take every bitch in heat that humps his thigh, in stride. It’s also why I put on a good show of my own, blowing kisses and winking at all the boyfriends who buy their horny women copies of our songs and tickets to all our shows.

Another loud roar of, “ _ Defile me _ ” sounds and the song comes to an end. Women scream, whistle, and cat-call Jaime. He turns to me and I return his grin. To anyone looking, we’re just two band mates appreciating a job well done. But there’s more there. We’re hungry for each other--we usually are after a solid set. 

The air is thick with sweat and smoke and the lights all move to signal the start of our closing. He rubs his thumb over his bottom lip and I know exactly what he wants because I want it too. All those other women, they don’t get to see the side of Jaime that I do. He may be in all his glory on stage, sweating and flexing, flirting and teasing. But, I get him when all the lights dim, the cameras disappear, and the fangirls with VIP blow-job passes are finally booted out. 

Stripped down, he’s all mine. 

“Sadly, ladies, that’s all for now,” Jaime says. He makes it a point to look down at the front row and smirk. “It’s been a pleasure playing for such fans. We’ll definitely have to come back here on our next tour.” 

The front row swoons and I step forward to agree, “No doubt. Ashemark really knows how to rock!” 

Too many thank yous get monotonous. It’s always a good idea to praise your fans and fluff their ego. As expected, they all cheer themselves on proudly. Because the boys don’t usually go out of their way for this last part, I turn to wave the rest of the band up to offer their own style of appreciation as well. 

Addam has a solemn expression as he tips his hat to the crowd. He lacks the thousand megawatt smile Jaime and I have, and while lots of chicks go for the strong silent type, it’s really lacking when it comes to interviews and really anytime you need him to talk. I get why father’s had enough of him--it’s just business. 

Bronn, our drummer--who irritates the shit out of me--twirls his sticks and flirts into the mic, “Yea, thanks for comin’ out. Any of you birds plan to stay after and I’ll plan to  _ come-on _ .”

I force myself not to roll my eyes, and instead laugh on cue. 

He’s a little older than the rest of us, but you’d never know it by the way he acts. Bronn’s libido makes all his decisions for him and everything’s a joke to him. He’s not even all that attractive, but he works his british accent and the ‘I don’t give a fuck what you think’ angle to his advantage. Case in point, he once played a whole show in only a thong and a set of seashell pasties on a dare. He took four women back to his bus that night. 

The lights go down and we ignore the sad exclamation from the crowd as we walk off stage. Father’s waiting for us--waiting to critique us, more like. Trant and Payne--the only roadies good enough to travel with us on the regular--are holding back a small stampede of girls crying out for Jaime. 

Someone hands us towels and Bronn and Addam stop in front of them as Jaime and I keep walking. I hear Bronn behind us saying, “I’ll take that one, and that one. Save that one for later.”

Addam’s quiet but I’m not stupid, I know he’ll make his own selection. 

Jaime and I are only saved from the meat market because of father. I steel myself for whatever shitty thing is about to spew from his mouth, but instead he wraps his arm around Jaime and praises, “Great show tonight, son.”

My fists clench at my sides. I can’t tell you the last time my father hugged me, or even said anything remotely approving to me. I turn to leave. I really don’t need to bear witness to another male ego stroke-fest.

Jaime can sense the righteous rage brewing inside me and tries to calm it before I cook up some truly evil retribution. Father’s lambo got it last time… “Cersei,” he calls out and catches me before I can get too far. His arm locks around me and hauls me back against him. “Where you going, sis?”

You heard correctly. 

‘Son’ isn’t a nickname. 

Father calls Jaime his son because he is. Which means that he’s my brother, and not in some cute romantic comedy ‘he’s my stepbrother and I’m conflicted’ type of way. He’s my biological brother--same mother and same father. In fact, we are so biologically linked that he’s actually my twin. And I suck his cock when no one’s looking. 

Oh, what you must think of me now. 

If it’s any consolation, I wrote ‘Defile Me’ after he ate me out behind a set of Peavey crate speakers--I prefer Marshalls, but whatever--in between sets once. I came in under eight minutes, so he’s in this just as deep as I am. To everyone else looking, we’re no more than affectionate siblings on an adrenaline high from a good show, in a celebratory embrace.

They don’t see his hard cock against my ass as I squirm in his hold, or hear him whisper in my ear. “Forget Dad. I’m going to fuck you raw tonight.”

My eyes travel over to our father, who has long since moved on from us. Even congratulating his precious son is short lived for Tywin Lannister. I watch him schmoozing with a couple of men in suits and drive my ass back into Jaime. His groan into my neck has me wetting my lips as I demand, “Bathroom, ten minutes. Or I’ll get myself off.”

He releases me so I know we’re on, and thank fuck we are because I’m all too ready to burn some bridges and the distraction is definitely necessary. 


	2. Lies to Keep

My pen scrawls across the page of my journal, working on our latest song,  _ Now I lay me down to sleep, I think of all the lies we keep. _

I don’t care if Metallica used this prayer in a song already. I’m doing it better. Everything’s plagiarized now anyway, and at least I’m changing most of the words to make it more relevant. This song is about more than masterbation. It’s all the restless nights Jaime and I spend separated even when we’re under the same roof. Hotels are too risky, as are tour buses, but when we’re back home, we crash at each other’s places all the time claiming we’re both too wasted to drive. People assume we’re using guest rooms, and it’s no one’s business that we aren’t. 

I hum a little to myself as I think of the next verse.  _ I drift my hand, down to wake _ , _ a little death, for you to take. _

I grin at the double entendre and am almost sold on keeping the lyrics. Who cares if they’re forced? Laying the right track can make unoriginal and repetitive horseshit sound like a rock anthem. Not that I think I write poorly...although, I use the word ‘take’ way too much in my songwriting. It’s because it’s perfect for Jaime and I. It’s greedy and unapologetic. It has no honor, only want, and it aims to solve that problem. Just like us. 

Just like him--the fucker.

I drop my journal beside me and pull a guitar into my lap as I recline back on the bed of pillows. Our practice space has a special room for songwriting. It’s completely soundproof and made for comfort, which is essential for long hours of writing--or fucking. We tend to do an equal share of both.

I came here alone today, so I strum my guitar and think back to all the times I lay alone in my bed, unfulfilled. In case you haven’t guessed, I’m unimpressed with Jaime at the moment. Plastered all over the internet is the headline,  _ Woman Pregnant with Golden God of Rock’s Love Child! _ Beneath it is a picture of him up against his canary yellow camaro, liplocked with some skank. 

Who apparently may also be the mother of his child…

I curse at the guitar in my hands when I miss yet another note, though I’m obviously more pissed about the headline and the fact that Jaime--my Jaime--is giving groupies babies as momentos. Why didn’t he just sign her tits like he does with all the rest of them? 

My jaw clenches as I pluck at the strings again. It’s not a bass, and I can’t play anything else for shit, but basses don’t lend themselves well for songwriting. Some would argue that, but they’re wrong. It’s better when Jaime’s here--not being a lecherous prick--because he plays while I scribble things down and together we come up with some really good stuff. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. I hear the doorknob turn and the click of the latch immediately after. I know it’s him because no one else dares to enter this den, not even our father. Maybe he worries what he’ll find if he does--even for twins, we’re quite affectionate. I’m sure there are rumors, and I’m sure he’s heard them. He just doesn’t want to know. He wouldn’t let anything screw with his golden goose, especially not something as ridiculous as fatherly love or adequate parenting. It’s in his best interests to look the other way and keep cashing in. 

Speaking of not looking…

To avoid seeing Jaime’s handsome and hateable face, I glare down at one of the beaded pillows by my bare feet and sing softly, _ “So many lies, so many lies. Secrets kept to pass the time.” _

I still can’t get the image of him sucking that slut’s lips out of my head. Not even when I see his shins in my periphery. Determined to ignore him, I carry on,  _ “Fun and games with no regard. For who it helps or hurts.” _

“Are you hurting, sis?” Jaime’s voice floats down to me from above, trying to use the song as a way to connect. 

“I don’t hurt,” I speak into the chords, still not looking at him. “I cause the hurt.” Which is entirely true. I decided long ago that getting even was way better than sitting around getting taken advantage of.

He plops down in front of me and I draw my legs up. My body language is not lost on him and he hesitates only a fraction of a second before he reaches for my knee and starts tracing circles over it. “You can say that again,” he says with a wary grin. 

I cock a curious brow. How am I hurting him? I’m not the one tongue-fucking randoms. If he’s referring to my frigid demeanor, he’ll see just how frosty I get if that child is his. 

His fingers abandon my knee and skim over the top of my thigh. “I’ve missed you, Cersei.” 

“I’m writing.” 

He eyes the guitar in my hands and points out the obvious, “Without me.” 

I say nothing because silence hurts him more than my harshest words do. Instead, I let my long blond hair hang down over my shoulder and fan out in front of my face while I look at my finger placement on the fretboard, as if getting this song right is the most important thing in the world. More important than him. 

I’m screwing up but I’m not sure how. Fucking six-strings. 

While my words--or lack thereof--have always been my weapon of choice, Jaime’s a bit more physical than that, and uses his strength to solve most of the problems he encounters. It used to vex me when we were little and he always got me to cry, “Uncle” first, but as we got older I stopped minding it when he won our little playful wrestling matches. Usually.

He grabs the guitar out of my hands and I stifle my outrage. No need to give him what he wants. Keeping my expression completely blank, I reach over and take a hit off the joint I had sitting on the bookshelf behind me while Jaime plays. He’s correcting me, and taking his time with it so I can see where his fingers rest.

“Like that.”

I hold the smoke inside as I gesture for the guitar back. He gives it to me and I let the smoke go as I mimic him. 

He nods. “Good.”

I hate that he can still teach me things. It just means that I’ll never bother learning from anyone else. I play the riff again to get it down and his chin lands on my knee. The amp is turned low, so I can hear him perfectly as he says, “It seems like you’ve been doing a lot of things without me.” 

It’s hard to ignore him when he’s touching me. He knows that, the bastard. I set the guitar aside and look up. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.” I always get extra proper when I’m being cold. It irritates him immensely.

His head turns so he’s resting his cheek on my knee now and his hands come up to start massaging my thigh. We both have our weapons to use.

“It’s been two weeks,” he says, as if my lonely vagina hasn’t noticed.

“Has it?” I feign indifference. “I hadn’t noticed.” 

He creeps closer, wedging himself between my legs as he reaches for my cheek. I turn my head away and he catches it. His hold is nothing short of dominating and my pussy’s gone traitor on me, begging for attention. She remembers what he’s like. I wish we’d forget. 

“You’re not raggin’ it.” 

Classy.

I roll my eyes to silently say as much, but stop when he turns my head and insists, “I’d know it if you were.” 

As if he has some sort of sixth sense for that sort of thing, as opposed to how men normally figure that out. Alphas are sexy, but they can still be douches, and the thing about douches is that no woman wants one inside her. I purse my lips and tell myself that Jaime’s testosterone is pushing him past sexy into douche territory, and hope my indignation will overpower my excitement. Sadly, it doesn’t, because it’s been two weeks and this girl’s got needs too.

Undeterred by my apparent disgust and disinterest, he leans in and grazes my lips with his before he whispers, “Why are you denying me?” He’s solid between my legs, the scent of his deodorant and aftershave are an aphrodisiac. 

I could keep up the silent treatment for a very long time, but all my girl parts are mutinying in my pants, so I relent. I lean back and narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you impregnating skeevy ho-bags?” 

Jaime blinks a couple of times and then lifts up off me. His brow wrinkles and he has the audacity to look confused. I show him my phone, because yes, I bookmarked the article to perseverate over more later, and why not save him the act of pretending he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Like I don’t know. Like I wouldn’t find out.

He reaches for my phone and wraps his hand around mine. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that he knows exactly what he’s doing--trapping my hand in his. He pulls me closer to get a better look at the damning pic and it’s accompanying headline. I make a small show of trying to yank my hand free, but it’s useless. He merely flexes his arm and I’m dragged toward him. He doesn’t smile, though I know such a maneuver was entirely intentional on his part and pleased him greatly. 

I’m still rocking a glare set to kill when he cracks a smile and a light chuckle rolls past his lips. “This?”

“Yes,  _ that _ .” I don’t bother squirming to get free--it would only make me look as helpless as I am. “You broke the rules.”

“Oh, Sunshine,” he purrs and drops our hands down between us, though he doesn’t actually let go. Fuck him for using a pet name at a time like this. It’s rare when he trots it out, but it always hits me straight in the damn heart and he knows it. He leans forward again and I flinch out of the way--as much as anyone can with one hand trapped. 

He doesn’t pay my dramatics any mind and brings one knee up to perch on a heel and reach right past me. To my joint. Well, I’m glad he’s got his priorities in order! He takes a puff off of it and stares at me, grinning like the cat who caught the canary. I could smack that cocky smirk right off his face. I could also maul it with kisses, because if he’s this confident after I revealed the evidence against him, then I know he’s innocent.

He sets the joint back where he found it, every movement so fucking smoothe and graceful that I’m seriously considering hate-fucking his face for how beautiful he is. I won’t. I don’t think, anyway. If Jaime knows where my mind is going, he doesn’t say, only uses his new vantage point to loom over me and slowly push me back into the pillows. I submit because the more he smiles, the more reassured I feel. 

He leans in to press his lips to mine, and I realize that he hasn’t bothered to offer any sort of explanation. I weasle my hand free from his and push against his chest with all my might. It’s like trying to move a wall of granite. He tilts his head to capture more of my lips, and deepen our kiss. Too bad for him I don’t appreciate being dismissed, and to show him so, I bite his lip. Hard. 

“Ow! Jesus--fuck, Cers!” He reels back and touches his lip. He’s looking down at the blood on his fingertips as he growls, “Unless chicks are stealing my baby-batter in my sleep, it’s not mine.”

I throw a pillow at him because I wouldn’t risk damaging a good Fender Strat on his thick head. “You were kissing her!” 

“Bitch kissed me,” he argued, ducking another pillow. The faintest trace of a smile tells me that I need to stop. He’s enjoying my open hostility, feeding off the energy. I know better than this. 

Smacking him with a pillow and yelling at him is as good as telling him I can’t wait for him to ride my slip and slide. Whether or not he’s telling the truth, I have no intention of fucking until he’s sufficiently groveled. I close my eyes and try to regain my composure. 

“It was back when we were in Kayce. We ran out of candy.” 

I remember that night well. It was Addam’s farewell bash and because it had been prolonged from Ashemark, there was no getting out of it. So, naturally, Jaime and I had to appear available. It’s annoying, but not unusual. Over the years, we’ve become pretty adept at it too--provided we follow the rules:

  1. No actual fucking.
  2. Touching is okay, so long as no one gets off from it.
  3. Absolutely no kissing on the lips. Other places are okay, but refer to rule two to be safe.



Anyway, Addam came out of the back bedroom with a couple of girls and announced that the drugs were gone. Bronn and Jaime went to pick up more. I was annoyed at the time because roadies should be risking their necks for drugs, not us.

“When we pulled into the parking lot, we were attacked by dolls,” Jaime says, pulling me from the memory of that night. Dolls is what the boys in our band call groupies--don’t ask me why. I think they wanted something original for the groupies that follow our band. Jaime shakes his head and adds, “It’s like they were expecting us.”

Knowing Bronn, they probably were. 

Jaime’s big hands slide between my knees and pry my legs apart so he can crawl between them and settle his weight over me. His chest pressing against mine feels perfect and he knows it. He’s the best weighted blanket, that also gives orgasms. His eyes meet mine as he says, “One minute I’m standing in the parking lot, signing her bag--did you know suede is a bitch to write on? I mean who wears suede anymore? Tacky.” He interrupts himself on a random thought and I squeeze my thighs tight around him as punishment. He only finds my ire amusing. Chuckling as he sets an elbow to either side of me, he rests on his forearms. Making his current position look effortless--and trust me, I’m making him work for it--he takes a piece of my hair and tickles my cheek with it as he smiles down at me. “Anyway, I turn my head and she throws herself at me, on some sort of search and destroy mission for my fucking tonsils.”

I make a pretend pouty face and pat his back to patronize. “Oh no! Poor baby. Did the pretty dolly ruin your kisses with too much tongue?”

His smile fades and his nostrils flare down at me. Fire sparks behind his eyes and the vibrant color of his irises shining at me, goes straight to my tits. They feel like someone rubbed icy-hot all over them and I have to swallow.

Deep down, beneath all the beauty, resides the beast I need.

I bite my bottom lip and bat my lashes, responding to everything in him that calls to everything in me. His gaze drifts down to my mouth and the bulge he’s been pressing against me gets harder. To say that I’m ready to go is the understatement of the year, but I’ll be damned if I give in so easily.

“I want you,” he breathes. “ _ Yesterday _ .” 

“Too bad.” I turn my head for emphasis and because I’m going to crack if I have to keep looking into those eyes.

Jaime drops his forehead to mine and takes a couple of deep breaths through his nostrils. I wonder if he’s trying to control himself. If that’s the case, then I’m going to need to fight the urge to lift my hips in desperate disappointment. Instead of retreating, he turns his head and nuzzles against my cheek. “I didn’t break the rules,” he reminds me as he kisses my throat. “She did and someone snapped a photo at the wrong time.” 

My back arches when he buries his nose in my cleavage and his hands come to cup my breasts. The ache between my legs is turning to a steady throb that only gets worse when he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. So focused on my need to feel him inside me, I didn’t even notice him pushing my tank top up or peeling my bra back. His hands squeeze again and he rubs his face in the valley between my breasts before he moves to my other tit to show it the same attention. 

My palms are sweating and the hair is raising on my arms, small goosebumps form over my ribcage and pucker my sensitive flesh. Jaime’s hands leave my breasts to run over my ribs and waist. He lowers his head and begins to kiss and nibble a trail downward. His hot breath gives me an involuntary shiver, and I try to sit up when his face hovers over my crotch. His hands move toward my fly and I stop him.

“Come on, Cers. Give up the cookie. I’m hungry.”

That’s right, beg for it. “Not really in the mood today,” I lie, fixing my bra and shirt. 

Instead of arguing or worse--pouting, he flashes me his dimples and then grabs my hips and yanks me toward him so fast that I fall back. He drives his head down between my thighs and bites my pussy. Actually  _ bites  _ it.

And doesn’t let go. 

“Jaime!” I scream and try to push him off. “Stop!”

It’s useless, he only bites in harder and shakes his head like a dog with its favorite chew toy, breathing hot air through my jeans and making everything tingle. It’s so fucking indecent and it’s melting my insides. 

“No cookie for you!” I definitely don’t mean it, but I make a good show of threading my fingers through his hair and trying to pull him off me. We both know that it’s better when he has to fight for it. “Shop’s closed!” 

He releases my pussy on a chuckle. I tighten my grip in his hair and I’m legitimately torn between pulling him off or pushing him back down. In the split second that I pause, my hips speak for me and roll up against his chin. His grin grows wider and his laugh heartier as he grabs my waistband. “I bet it’s open for one special customer.” 

I stop fighting. What’s the point? My body’s just going to betray me again. It’s so completely over my facade and ready to feel him again. And he didn’t fuck her.

He kisses my belly as he pops the button on my jeans and pulls on the zipper. “No panties today,” he notices, peeling the fabric back to reveal my freshly groomed snatch. “Dirty girl.”

“Uh-huh,” I agree, because I’m done fighting and ready to get to fucking. I sit up just a little to pull my tank off and toss it aside. My fingers go to the clasp of my bra when the tip of his tongue goes pearl diving and I cry out, “Jee-sus!” 

He picks his head up and teases, “The name’s Jaime--I can see how you’d get confused, though.”

“Shut up.” I press my big toe into one of his kidneys and laugh when he winces. “Thought you were hungry?”

His eyes glaze over at the open invitation. He breathes deeply through his nose and I realize that he’s inhaling my scent. He’s obviously filled with the primal need to drive his cock deep inside me--repeatedly. My lips part and air escapes me as I stare back into savage eyes. 

Yes. So much yes. 

I’m yanked forward again and suddenly my jeans are down by my knees. As if I’m not trapped enough by that fact, he’s holding my hips down as they try fruitlessly to lift up further into his mouth. His eyes look up at me as he burrows his lips beneath mine and suck my clit. 

It’s like I just mainlined pixy sticks. I’m rushing hard. My heart is jacked up and my fingers and toes are twitching. I can’t think, can’t remember my name or even that I’m supposed to breathe. “Jaim...Fuuu-”

I can feel him grinning against me, basking in how stupid he makes me. I’d care if I could, but it’s just not in the cards right now. I’m all reflex and not much else so I do the only thing I can and surrender. I release my grip on reality and let the ride take over. All the gravity leaves the room and I’m completely weightless as wave after wave of ecstasy rolls through me and smacks him in his greedy, smug smile.

I’m trembling in aftershock when he rears back and rips open his own jeans to free his cock. It parades out and bobs in front of me without any preamble, all red and leaking from the tip. I snicker at how much he needs to come and am about to say as much but instead, I squeal in surprise as he flips me over. He pulls my hips back so I’m up on my knees--his favorite position for a good smashing--and I wobble uncoordinated, still jello. 

One hand clamps down hard on my hip, as if he’s worried I might somehow escape. Like I’d want to. I hear the foil tear open behind me and the smell of latex hits the air. Although I’ve already visited Wonderland once, I’m so ready for round two, needing him to fill the emptiness inside me.

There’s something inherently sexy about the act of putting a condom on. Tearing into it and letting the wrapper fall to the floor, promises you’re about to get dirty. The hasty roll down the shaft, filled with curses and heavy breathing tells you just how anxious your partner is to get up inside you. The smell of latex lingers behind, letting the world know what you just did. It’s the safe choice and yet it adds so much risk to an already risky situation. 

He slides the tip of his dick over my slit and I wiggle my hips, trying to push back on him. He denies me at first, growling, “Made me wait two fucking weeks.” And all of a sudden, he drives himself all the way to the hilt and I’ve gone from nothing to everything all at once. 

There’s a tear in my eye from the pressure and its entirely reflex when I clench around him, though we both know that I’m embracing such intrusion. He holds us still and shudders at the feel of me. Glad to know I’m not the only one affected. I breathe deeply and grip the pillows in front of me as he begins to retreat, ever so slowly. He pauses and starts kneading his thumbs into my ass and lower back in a torturous massage. I hate that we stopped and that his cock makes me needy enough to care. Then he slams back into me and I yelp in surprise, pleasure, and a slight tinge of pain--the good kind.

“You like that?” He asks, rhetorically. We all have our kinks and dirty talk is definitely Jaime’s. “When I own that tight pussy?” 

I press my face into the pillows to bite something through all the moans that spew out of me. His hip bones are slamming hard into my bare ass and I know if he keeps at this pace for much longer, he’ll leave bruises. 

Jaime’s a great lay regardless of the fact that he’s my twin, but there’s something about stripping down and rubbing up against someone Daddy would be mad about that makes it all the hotter. I think it works the same for Jaime too because he likes to call me ‘Sis’ a lot, like the fact that we were born together means absolutely nothing to his cock. 

When I know it does. It does to both of us. It’s just that instead of being ashamed by it, it only makes it that much more appealing. Especially when father’s being an asshole--which is always. 

I moan into the pillow again, but it’s short lived. Jaime fists my hair and picks me up off the pillow by it. He doesn’t stop when my head is up like I think he will, but instead he steadily pulls me back until my hands lift. His chest is pressed against my back and his other arm locks around me as he continues to fuck me. His lips are against my ear as he asks, “Why would I want to fuck any of the dollies that sniff around-” He pauses to move one hand to my throat and the other to my clit. “When I have an all-access-pass to this?” 

He works a steady rhythm with his fingers and the angle of his cock has changed to better toy with my g spot. “Hmm?” He applies just the slightest amount of pressure to my throat and it’s enough to send blood rushing to the slippery marble he’s rolling around between his fingers. 

It all suddenly feels so urgent. 

I claw at whatever I can reach, convulsing as I hiss, “ _ Faster! _ ”

Jaime’s fingers flick faster and his thrusts are much more targeted. I can feel him tensing behind me and I know that we’re going to crash together. I gasp against his hold and my moaning turns to keening. I can’t stop begging. He pants in my ear, the faintest of chuckles sounding. Thankfully, he’s too out of breath and too close to outright laugh at my current dependence on him. 

When he comes, so do I. 

How could I not? With his dick beating a tattoo against my G and his fingers matching that rhythm on the outside, it’s a double assault. Sweat drips from my hairline and his chest and my back are slick from our secret workout. I sink down into the pillows, too worn out to hold myself up anymore. 

Jaime kisses the top of my head before he grips the condom and gently pulls out. We’re both over stimulated and sensitive. He’s tying it off and throwing it in the trash when a terrible thought crosses my mind. I’m still in post-sex haze, so I say it. “One day, we’re going to have to fuck other people.” 

“Not today,” Jaime says by way of assurance, though I don’t know who he’s trying to reassure. Me or him.

I don’t say that people will eventually start to wonder, if they aren’t already. And he doesn’t say that we’re being careful. We’ve had this conversation before. Instead, I glance over to my phone and ask, “What if you really do knock someone else up?”

Jaime stills. I’m on my back resting against the pillows and he’s up on his knees looking down at me. His expression is suddenly quite serious, almost stern. He never took his shirt off, but the sleeves are torn and one of his pert nipples is peeking out. I consider sitting up and taking it in my mouth to soften the edge about him, but we’ve already played that game and I’m tired. I finally resign myself to finishing what I started and look into his eyes. There’s an intensity behind them I didn’t expect as he says, “Then I’ll push her down a flight of stairs.”

I don’t say, ‘You wouldn’t,’ because right now, in this moment, I’ve never been more sure that he would. I should be horrified, but I’ve truly never felt more loved in my life and I can barely contain my excitement. “Come here.” 

He lowers himself down on the pillows beside me and nuzzles into my bare chest. I wrap my arms around him and hook a leg over his, falling further in love with my beautiful, murderous beast of a brother. We fall asleep for a short while and when we wake up, we finish my joint and the song--just like we have many times before. Living our lie.


	3. Miss Managed

Every girl has a shirt that they love to wear that should have been retired ages ago. It’s usually oversized, faded, beyond comfortable, and has some sort of sentimental value attached to it. For me, it’s Jaime’s old Van Halen shirt. It was from their pre-Haggar days and it has a hole in the armpit that I willfully ignore. The very first night we ever got drunk at a party--we were fourteen--I took my top off for some reason I can’t remember to this day and Jaime ripped off his own shirt and covered me with it. 

I think he was possessive of me even then. 

Music pipes through the office speakers _ , Think you know it all, but you don’t got a clue. My heart's messy and mismanaged--mismanaged because of you _ . It’s a song from our second album and written for our manager, with a couple of lyrical twists to make it sound like it’s for a lover instead of a fuckwit father. 

Anyway, it wasn’t much longer after that night that Jaime and I lost our virginity to each other. I had taken to dancing around in his shirt and a pair of short-shorts to tease him. I saw the way he looked at me and I noticed what got to him. I would sing Van Halen songs at the top of my lungs and grab something of his so he would have to chase me and wrestle it out of my hands to get it. It looked innocent enough to anyone watching a sister annoying her brother. Of course, they didn’t realize there was more simmering beneath the surface.

Until it all came to a head. 

You see, there was this girl at tutoring--we never really did get the normal experience of going to school--and I overheard Jaime bragging to his friends, like teenagers do. He claimed he was going to pop her cherry. Which meant that he planned to pop his without me. We did everything together. Needless to say, it pissed me off, and freaked me out a little. If he was going after her, where did that leave me? 

Loathing to be left out, I got him to come after me instead. I pranced by in his shirt with one of his hats and started singing, “Jaime’s Cryin’” to get his attention. He tried to take his hat back and when I raised my arms, the hem of the shirt lifted to reveal me in all my bare-ass glory. 

He never did pop that girl’s cherry.

In retrospect, I guess you could say I was possessive back then too. 

I’ve had that shirt ever since and when I’m home alone, I usually lounge in it, because contrary to popular belief, I enjoy being comfortable. But as father says, ‘ _ It’s not our brand _ .’ So, more times than not, I’m in leather and chains, looking just as tough and badass as the boys.

I pause in front of father’s office, my leather pants creaking, and I wish I was snuggled into that shirt right now. I take a deep breath and ignore his assistant babbling about how he’s been expecting me as I listen to my song,  _ I lose my temper! Do stupid shit! You always clean it up--because that’s just what you do. You manage this Miss but who mismanages you?  _

It’s still a question I ask myself to this day whenever I am forced to deal with him. Visits with our  _ manager  _ are never good--he only calls us into his office when he’s about to announce something that will either irritate the piss out of us, or just further degrade us. All for the sake of our brand. #fatheroftheyear.

“Hey, Sis,” Jaime says from one of the leather lounge chairs, looking sexy and sated as fuck. The afterglow usually lasts a couple of days for him. I suck my teeth and hide a smirk as I remind myself that I did that.

“Cersei,” father acknowledges, sternly. 

Uh-oh, daddy’s judging me again. I try not to laugh outright. I like to make father wait whenever he demands my presence. It’s something he knows, and I’m pretty sure he plans for now, but his disappointment with me is a dance we never forget the steps to.

I grunt a noncommittal greeting and go straight for his bar to make the meeting just a scosche more bearable. I’m pouring myself a drink when father’s deep voice rumbles, “It’s nine thirty in the morning.”

The amber liquid pours smooth over the ice cubes as I raise my arm to show the fitbit around my wrist. It’s black with skulls decorating the band. “Thanks, I got a watch.” 

I take a swig in the resulting silence before I force myself to turn around. When I do, I’m met with father’s very controlled and incensed expression--which looks more like he’s constipated than anything else. Seriously, I’ve considered dropping a laxative in his coffee just to see if it would give him a new perspective on life. Jaime never lets me go through with it, but that’s beside the point. I meet father’s eyes because I like to remind him that I’m not a wilting flower, and then slowly raise the glass to my lips again. Nine thirty can suck it. 

“So, Dad was just telling me about our next move,” Jaime pipes up, trying to break the tension. 

I run my tongue over my teeth to chase every last bit of alcohol before I decide how to respond. “Hmm, sounds like he was telling you about  _ your  _ next move. If it had anything to do with me, I’m sure he would have waited until I arrived.”

“You’re always late,” Jaime argues and I want to flick his earlobe.

Father’s cheek twitches, in what I have come to learn is as close to a smile as the man ever gets. Ignoring Jaime, he speaks to me, “You’ve always been quite perceptive, Cersei.” 

I take another sip and ignore the warm flutter of it in my belly because at this point I’ll get downright drunk if I have to, just to show him how little he controls me. 

His lips thin as he adds, “And petulant.”

“Dad,” Jaime says.

I laugh and keep my eyes on father as I speak, “It’s okay, Jaime. Father and I are just talking, no need to play peacemaker.”

Jaime sighs and gets up out of his chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the way he drags his hand through his hair and flips it over his shoulder. He looks like he’s becoming legitimately upset. So much for the afterglow. Leave it to father to ruin a good fuck. 

Jaime clears his throat and his eyes dart back to father. 

Wait a minute. Something’s wrong. Actually, now that I think about it, I had been too on edge when I came in. Jaime welcomed me, yes, but his tone was off. Under the glow, there was a tinge of discomfort even then. What did father say to him before I got here? Why does this suddenly feel like a goddamned trap?

“Spit it out,” I say, a firm believer in ripping bandaids off.

Father stares me down, making absolutely no move to say a word. The door opens behind me and the chorus sounds from the lobby,  _ Oh! Who?! Who mis-manages you?! _

I whirl around to tell whoever it is to fuck off when I realize it’s Tyrion, the little murderer himself. “What do you want?” I snarl.

He doesn’t cower away or blanch at my venom. The door shuts behind him, silencing my song. If he thinks he’s brave, he’s not as smart as father gives him credit for. Tyrion stuffs his small hands into his pockets and strolls in looking all kinds of smug. “Judging by your demeanor, I’m going to assume that father’s already told you.”

“She was late,” father says, as if that explains everything. 

Tyrion glances to Jaime and says, “But you know.” 

It’s then that I finally take my eyes off father and look at Jaime. His golden skin has blanched and his eyes hold regret. “What do you know?” I ask him, because whatever it is, it’s definitely not good.

Jaime swallows and takes a careful step forward. His voice is gentle and I hate it. He knows better than that--to treat me like I’m some hysterical female--and yet he does it anyway as he says, “Father wants me to make a solo album.” 

Of course he does. 

“ _ Father wants? _ ” I parrot back to him, annoyed. The mere fact that he’s even telling me this, means that he’s going to do it. We might not have been able to refuse father when we were children, but we’re twenty now. Jaime is in a better position to say no, but he isn’t. I curl my lip in disgust. “Where’s your spine?”

His gaze drops to the floor between us and he slowly nods his head. “You’re pissed, I get it.” 

Don’t patronize me. Don’t understand me. Don’t excuse me. 

“Let me guess,” I say as I turn to scowl at Tyrion. “This was your idea.” There’s no other reason for him to be here. Father resents him as much as I do. 

Lines form on the little monster’s forehead. It almost looks like remorse--if he can even feel such an emotion. Perhaps he’s merely seen it enough to learn how to copy it. “It’s just one album,” he says, as if that makes any difference at all. “It’s standard for lead singers to release at least one solo project.” 

Jaime tries to reach for me and I shake him off my arm as I glare at father. “Why are you listening to him? What does he know?”

Father inhales and settles in his seat, his eyes rolling up as he does. “Because, if nothing else, he has a sense for numbers.”

“Thanks for the compliment, father.” Tyrion then lowers his voice and whispers out the side of his mouth, “However backhanded.” As if anyone cares. He’s fortunate to even step foot in this office, let alone actually sway father’s opinion in any direction. 

I feel Jaime’s fingers intertwine with mine as he tugs on my arm. “Father said that in addition to the money we make from the solo album, it will generate cash flow for Rampant too because new fans will be looking for other things I’ve done and they’ll start digging up our old albums.” 

_ Generate cash flow? _ Jesus, he sounds just like father. “Is that true?”

Father reaches for something on his desk and doesn’t bother to lift his head as he says, “Ask your brother.”

I glance over at Tyrion and snap, “I’d rather not.”

He at least has the decency to drop the forlorn act and purse his lips at me. That’s right, you little monster, show me how terrible you are. No one’s crying for you--not after you took my mother away. 

Jaime sighs over my shoulder. His voice is resigned as he says, “Come on, Cers. It’s only one album.” 

What about me?

“And what about the rest of the band?” 

“So selfless of you to ask.”

“ _ Enough _ ,” father chides and Tyrion bites his tongue. I take another sip of my drink, like I meant to anyway and don’t give a shit about his commands. If he notices my muted act of defiance, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he announces, “The band will continue to play. You, Cersei, will continue to play.” 

It’s Jaime’s head that turns now. Apparently, this is news to him. Had he even thought to ask? Or was he too focused on himself to care? 

“No way am I working on two albums at the same time,” Jaime argues. 

Oh, so he can stand up to father--when it suits him. Good to know just how overrated our ‘special’ twin bond is. 

Father gives him a weary look. “I don’t intend for you to. I want all your attention on your solo album.” 

Again Jaime looks confused. He doesn’t understand how Rampant can continue to play without a lead singer. It’s pretty obvious, really. Everyone is disposable to father. Without a second thought, he swapped Addam out for Lancel--our cousin--because he didn’t think Addam matched our brand. Lancel doesn’t either but he’s much more easily bossed around. Taking Jaime away from Rampant, just leaves a temporary opening for father to shove another star in his place. 

“Who do you have in mind?” I ask, wanting to know who I’ll be sharing the stage with for the next few months while Jaime shines in his own spotlight.

“Word is Storm’s End broke up and the lead singer, Robbie B is looking for a new home,” Tyrion explains, as if it was him that I asked. 

Jaime shakes his head. “Robbie B? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

Tyrion doesn’t look at Jaime as he says, “Storm’s End’s last album grossed over 400 million in sales.”

Jaime sneers back, his pride doing all the talking now. “We did better.” 

“And no one else has even come close,” father snaps. He bows his head back to work as he enlightens us. “If Rampant must keep playing--and it must, then it stands to reason that we use the next highest ranking lead. And right now, that happens to be Robbie B.”

“What will the fans say when they see that dark haired bastard up there singing with Cersei instead of me?”

_ Singing with Cersei _ . Not, ‘playing with the band.’ Apparently I do matter next to his ego. Glad to know I rank somewhere. Asshole. It’s then that something hits me--and hits me hard. I know just how I’m going to hurt him back for all this. “We’ll do it,” I say. “A little change might do us good.”

Jaime turns to me, his jaw dropping. His eyes say everything he doesn’t dare to speak aloud. It was all well and good when he was thinking of his solo album, but the idea that he could be so easily replaced nettles him. From father, it’s an insult. From me, it’s a betrayal. His shock over my sudden cooperation turns to anger.

Oh well. I don’t particularly like being tossed aside while he runs off playing lead singer. 

“And you speak for the whole band now?” Jaime’s scowl is perfection and the energy he’s radiating is actually getting me a little hot. It could be because he turned his outrage from father to me. What can I say? I like the attention. 

Tyrion pours himself a drink and in a voice meant to soothe an angry lion, he reminds us, “They own no stock in this. Bronn’s for hire and Lancel is just grateful for a chance to play on a stage.”

I consider the truth to Tyrion’s words. Father is serious about our brand; it belongs only to us Lannisters. The rest of the band gets paychecks, but they have no control. Even Jaime and I only have minimal percentages.

Jaime looks between Tyrion and I, his expression flip flopping from hurt to angry and back again. “So it’s like that then?” 

“Looks like it.” 

“Then why are you all still here?” Father hardly looks up from his work as he waves us off. I turn to leave, listening to my brothers behind me.

“Tyrion, stay. We have the Baelish reports to review.” 

I don’t bother to look back at the little monster. I don’t want to see the self-satisfied grin on his face. He thinks he has father’s love because he uses him, but it’s just business and it’s foolish to think otherwise.

I throw the door open and storm through it.  _ You think you know it all, but you don’t know the half. Leave me wanting, needing--oh so, mis-managed!  _

“Shut that shit off,” I bark at the mousy assistant as I pass by. 

“Uh, but Mr. Lannister-”

I throw my hand up to stifle her excuse. She’s already behind me, in the past. The ding of the elevator in front of me is my only salvation and I force myself not to all-out run for it. I can hear Jaime hot on my heels, and going any faster would seem like I was trying to flee. I’m not that weak of a person--even in moments when I wish I was.

A couple of wide-eyed boys from the mailroom--or some other equally boring department--stumble over their words as they shuffle out of the elevator. I flash them a cat-like grin because flirting is second nature and I’m certain that just that small gesture--coming from someone like me--will feature prominently in their wettest of dreams. 

I hear a low growl behind me and I know Jaime doesn’t appreciate their gawking. I step into the elevator and turn to face him. His eyes are shimmering emeralds and though I’m a good foot away from him, I can feel the heat radiating off him. I watch the elevator doors close behind him and as soon as they click shut, he strikes. Caging me in his arms, I’m pinned against the back of the elevator, his breath hot against my face. “You’ll hate working with that fat bastard.” 

Fat?

Robbie’s not fat. Larger, yes. But, it’s just how he’s built. He’s muscly, but not as defined as Jaime is. Not that I really noticed or anything. I’m obviously partial to green eyes, but if I were to appreciate blue, Robbie B’s are probably the best out there. Again, not that I noticed or anything. It’s just that, a lot of girls do. So, he’s handsome enough--hardly the hunchback of notre dame. If I have to work with someone else, there are worse guys to share the stage with.

I press my forehead to Jaime’s, and push back, reminding him how hard I can be to contain. I’m outright grinding my skull against his in challenge as I bat my lashes and say in a voice so sickly sweet, “I’m sure I’ll make the most of our time together.” 

“The fuck you will,” he growls and the sound shoots through all of my nerve endings, frying my circuits until there’s a fire burning deep inside. If ever there was an opportunity for him to put his  _ firehose  _ to use... 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ? Hmm.” I torture him with a twist of his own words, and let the lust I’m feeling emphasize all the right places. “Maybe I just will.”

“You better not.” 

His warning sounds almost deadly. If I were a guy, I’d definitely tuck my tail between my legs and run in the opposite direction. But instead, I’m all woman and I can think of something much better to tuck between my legs. I drag my palms down over his hard chest and flick the tip of my tongue over his lips to be a brat. “Or what?”

He yanks me off the wall only to throw me back against another one. I don’t get the chance to wonder what the point of that was before he reaches for the buttons beside us and stops the elevator. Both hands go to my face as his lips are on mine in a kiss meant to overwhelm. His body crashes against me and I can’t move or breathe, only feel him fucking my face with his. I start to move away but another wave of hot anticipation rolls through me as I quickly discover he’s wrapped my hair around a fist to keep me in place and he has no intention of letting me go.

At that little revelation, my kisses turn fierce and my hands grab for every bit of him I can reach, digging my nails in through his shirt. I’m too distracted to hear the sound of a zipper, and so I don’t realize what his free hand has been up to until it’s in my pants, cupping me. He pulls from my lips just long enough to demand, “ _ Mine _ .” And then he’s back at my lips before I can respond. 

He’s shutting me up the only way he can.

He won’t take the chance that I’ll argue the point. I don’t usually when he has my pussy in the palm of his hand, but he knows I’m in the mood to fight, so I might just for the sake of it. Especially since I’m using Robbie B against him at the moment. 

He shoves his hand further down, his fingers probing for my opening as his thumb slips between my folds. I’m already wet and he knows it--can hear it in the way I pant and feel it in the way my hands are desperate to touch every square inch of him. A rogue moan tears my lips from his when two fingers plunge inside. He chuckles and rests his forehead against my cheek. “That’s right.” He’s as breathy as I am. “Remember who does this for you.” He kisses my jaw. “Who takes care of you.” 

Feeling particularly defiant, I rock my hips further onto his hand and hiss, “Who does what Daddy tells him to, you mean?”

He groans and bites my neck, fingering me harder. I’m up on tiptoes, squirming both away from and toward the assault of his fingers on my sex. Jesus, that man knows how to finger. His thumb works furious circles around my clit and my breath keeps catching as I chase the sinful sweet that always comes before the fall. 

A hard bulge presses against my thigh and it’s second nature to start pawing at his belt to free his cock. I hold it hot in my hand and give it a tight squeeze and a slow stroke from tip to base. It’s such a contrast to the impatient way he clicks my button, and yet still a race to the same end. He can manhandle me all he wants, but we both know who’s in control here.

He exhales hard through his teeth as I gently scrape my nails over his balls. “Fuck, Cers,” he groans and lets go of my hair. His palm flattens over my chest--over my heart. 

Fuck him for that. 

How dare he try to turn this into love-making right now? 

I keep stroking him as I lift my hips and start fucking his hand faster so he knows just exactly what this is. He doesn’t remove his hand and it’s like a standoff between us. I let my head fall back against the wall and breathe heavy as instinct takes over. Thoughts and feelings are good foreplay, but I find repetition and pressure are great for actually getting off. 

I shiver on his fingertips in a quieter, but equally pleasurable orgasm, and he leans back far enough to flash me a triumphant grin. By the look on his face, it’s as if every one of my orgasms are a gift from him to me. As if I’m incapable of coming without him. Like I don’t know how to use my own hand. It’s whatever, I’m too sated to kick up a fuss right now. He finally lets go of me and flattens his palm against the wall behind me. His heavy-lidded face hovers in front of mine as he enjoys my hand the way I just enjoyed his. 

Except that I’m still mad about this solo bullshit. 

So I smile as he rocks into my fist and I say, “Thanks for that.”

He kisses my forehead tenderly. “Anytime, Sunshine.”

It’s then that I let go of him and step to the side--out from under him. The confused look on his face tells me that he didn’t see that coming. I zip my fly and button my pants as he stands there looking ridiculously cute with his erection bobbing in the open air. 

“Cers?”

I take one of his hands and bring it to his cock as I hit the button on the elevator. Jaime staggers back a step as the elevator starts up again, the movement making him unsteady. “What the fuck?” He asks as the floor numbers start flashing above our heads.

I smirk as the elevator dings. “Enjoy your solo work.”

The doors open and he spins around just in time to conceal himself from a bunch of innocent bystanders. People pile into the elevator and I take the opportunity to make my exit. It pleases me to no end to listen to him curse under his breath while he wrestles his boner back in his pants. There’s too many people for him to get past before the doors close, so he’ll just have to stay put and think about what he did. I dig my phone out of my pocket as I walk, determined to learn more about the guy who--for better or worse--will be our new lead.


	4. All Mine

“Jaime, is it true that you’re going solo?” 

Margaery is a talk show host from the south that has the slightest twang in her speech to prove it. Her long pearl necklace, knotted midway to advertise it’s excess, compliments the low dip of her cleavage. Her hair has a tousled look--like she just rolled off a cock, shimmied her dress on, and walked on camera. Which, she just might have. They don’t call her ‘Hoover’ for no reason...

Father chose her to conduct the interview because despite her confident exterior, she’s timid enough to stick to the script she’s fed. She also has a prime time slot--pun intended. 

Jaime runs a hand through his golden mane as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His smile is crafted to appear shy and modest. Women eat that shit up all the time. 

Groupies want him to be the bad boy in real life that he is on stage, so that they might stand a chance when they throw themselves at him. Good girl fans--who would never flash their tits or stand in line to give roadies bjs--want Jaime to be sweet and misunderstood in real life. They want the best of both worlds, for him to be the tough badass that has them jilling themselves hard under their fluffy floral print comforters every night, but also a sweet virtuous man who just needs the right woman to bring him out of his shell. 

At least groupies are happy with a simple pump and dump--maybe some scribbled sharpie across the ass after as a momento. While I would never allow Jaime to fuck a groupie, I actually mind them less than regular fans. The regular fans always go too damn far. They are the ones who obsess--who imagine sharing a whole life with my brother. They have the audacity to paint pictures and write stories about it. 

His playing it humble only feeds their crazy. Audible swooning in the audience catches my attention as he looks at his boot and grins. His voice is soft as he admits, “It’s just one album.” 

“For now!” 

I roll my eyes at Margaery’s scripted enthusiasm, but stop myself quickly when I see the camera pan my way. 

“You must be so proud of your brother!” 

“I must,” I say back through gritted teeth and practiced smiles. 

Jaime’s smile doesn’t touch his eyes as he looks at me and I want to slap him, but I know it would lack the preferred effect. Any touch is a good touch to Jaime. It’s a double standard for sure, since he’d never raise a hand to me, but he’d gladly take a beating from me because it means I care enough to bother. I’d rather not give him the satisfaction of feeling my love for him.

Margaery’s eyes search mine, trying to decipher what lies beneath them. She can tell there’s something weighing heavy in the air, but she can’t put her finger on it. Let her think it’s just a jealous sister playing nice for the cameras, waiting for the chance to rip a strip off her twin later for being a success without her. 

“But I hear the show must go on--is that true?” 

The corners of my mouth lift and I let my mind wander to the perfect retribution for my darling brother. “It is. We reached out to another lead singer to see if he might stand in for Jaime while he works on his album and we were fortunate enough to find he was game.” 

“You must be so excited to be working with-” Margaery lifts her fingers to her lips as if to stop the name from spilling out. “Is it okay to tell everyone?” 

“Why not?” A deep baritone voice booms.

I feel my stomach flip as I recognize Robbie B. Looks like this is father’s way of announcing it. Or maybe it was the little monster’s idea. Either way, I don’t care. I could kiss them both. Okay, well, that’s going a bit far, but still. This announcement will take the wind out of Jaime’s sails and I’m going to get the best, roughest fuck tonight for it. Because yes, even after the elevator, I still screw him. How could I not? He’s a golden god onstage and a talented lover off. And he might have showed up at my place later that night with my favorite wine and a set of kneepads--for himself. Needless to say, Jaime knows how to make up. 

The audience all stands up, cheering as Robbie B walks on set. A scrawny man in a polo shirt and a headset keeps his head down as he rolls another chair beside mine. Margaery stands and gives Robbie a big hug, pressing her silicone cups against him. His hand sits a little low on her back, but that’s probably just been how it landed with her throwing herself at him. 

He gives me a smile over her shoulder and the stage lights make his eyes sparkle. He’s not my type, but he’s definitely not a Coyote Ugly situation either. Margaery lets him go and he takes a seat beside me. I turn my head slightly, just to acknowledge his presence, but not seem too obvious in the way I’m checking him out. His long brown hair is held back in a ponytail and he keeps a beard that reaches down and touches his chest. I notice how he smoothes and plays with it a lot. Unlike Jaime, he doesn’t wear ripped concert tees to interviews, but instead a button up with the sleeves rolled up to show his tatted forearms. He’s got a thick leather band around his wrist and some metal chain bracelets surrounding it too. He’s only got one ring on his finger and it’s on his right finger--the sign of a widower, but he’s never been married.

I may have googled him…

“Robbie! It’s so good to have you.” 

“Thank you. It’s great to be here.” 

“So, I mean, wow! Where do we begin?”

He flips his ponytail over his shoulder and lets his eyes wander over her. “We can start wherever you like, darlin’.” He’s probably just flirting for the fans like he’s supposed to.

I don’t know how the woman makes herself blush, but she does. She even goes so far as to fan herself as she says, “Oh, he’s a hot one, isn’t he, Cersei?” 

I know she asks me because I’m the only other female on this stage, but it still irritates me because while she forged her embarrassment, the redness creeping up my neck to touch my cheek is quite real. Disconcertingly so. 

She takes my silence for agreement. “It will be quite the adjustment going from singing with your brother to singing with such a sexy bachelor. How will you keep your hands to yourself?”

“Who says she needs to?” Robbie fires back and reaches for my hand. He places a peck of a kiss on my knuckles and winks at the crowd. “I’m all about having a good time.” 

There’s a low rumble beside me. I’m surprised I can hear Jaime over the crowd of girls going wild with envy. My eyes dart to the side to see that while his grin is in place, his knuckles are white, gripping the arms of his chair. 

“Yes, you have quite a reputation for that, don’t you?” Margaery teases. 

Robbie lets go of my hand and gives a slight shrug before adjusting in his seat, widening his legs and slouching down a little to give all the women in the audience the mental image of bouncing in his lap. 

I cross my own legs, because it seems as though I might have just pictured it myself. It’s perfectly normal to think about what it might be like to fuck other people, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to do anything about it. I’ve never had anyone else before, so you can’t blame me for being curious. 

You know what? The hell with guilt. I don’t owe Jaime anything. He’s too busy reaping the rewards of being born with a cock, so fuck it. I’ll bang whoever I want in my mind, and not feel an ounce of remorse in doing it. 

“What made you want to join Rampant?” Margaery asks because somewhere in the midst of all the fangirling, she remembers she’s supposed to be giving an interview. 

A small metal ball slips between Robbie’s lips and I realize he has a tongue piercing. Warmth spreads down in my lady bits as he runs it back and forth and I imagine it tapping against my clit. After noticing Bronn’s, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if Jaime got one, but I don’t like the idea of having to wait while it heals. 

“Well, Storm’s End is on a break right now.” He clears his throat and gives Margaery a meaningful look. “You probably heard our bassist, Ned’s got a lot going on at home right now.”

Yeah, no shit. Word is, after he put a ring on it and knocked his girl up, he went out on tour only to return with some other bitch’s brat. So much for marital bliss. I can definitely understand him being out of commission for a little while because of it. Their other bandmate is Jon Arryn--an older guy, serves as the Mick Mars of their little crew, keeping shit together and about the music. They run through drummers faster than we do, so it’s anyone’s guess who they had to let down while Ned kisses his lil’ missus’ ass to keep her. 

Margaery nods her head to avoid asking any questions about it and getting off track. Robbie takes her non-verbal communication as license to continue, “So, anyway. I was just sitting around bored with nothing to work on, when I got a call asking if I’d like to step in for Jaime-fuckin’-Lannister.”

There’s a roar of laughter at the loud buzzer that sounds to cover his use of profanity. 

“Oh shit-” 

It sounds again and Margaery giggles as she shakes her head, charmed by his lack of couth. 

“Sorry about that.” He’s really not, and it just makes everyone want him all the more. 

Jaime’s knee is bouncing up and down beside me, wishing he were anywhere else but here. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. 

“Anyway, I figured, why not?” Robbie nods his head over to me and the rest of the band--who’ve been surprisingly well-behaved and silent throughout this whole interview. Although, I’m pretty sure Bronn’s been making some lewd gestures to some of the ladies in the audience whenever the camera is off him. “Everyone knows this is a talented crew. I’d be stupid not to follow my manager’s advice and take the opportunity.” 

“Jaime.” 

He knee stops bouncing now that her attention is back on him. He flashes her a smile as she says, “It must feel good knowing you’re leaving your bandmates in good hands while you work on your solo.” 

“Yeah, sure,” he says, clearing his throat. “I mean, Robbie’s got a strong rep in the industry. And it’s not like it’s forever.” 

“So, you’re not worried that he’ll take your place?” 

We all laugh, because we’re supposed to. Robbie holds his hands up. “Whoa, whoa. Let’s slow it down there Margy. I haven’t even been to practice yet.” 

I don’t know what comes over me as I say, “You should.” 

Blue flames ignite behind his eyes. “Darlin’, I’d love to  _ come _ .” 

Margaery fans herself with her cue cards again and looks down at them, making a real show of losing her place in the approved questions. I have a feeling that neither father, nor the little monster approved of these. This girl knows her audience and is willing to flirt with limits to appease them. I can just imagine how pissed off father is right now. 

“I wish I could be a fly on the wall,” Margaery says with a wink to the camera before she turns to me. “Is it true that you and Jaime write all the songs for Rampant?” 

“Yes. We do.” 

“How did you come up with the name ‘Rampant’ anyway?”

“We needed a better name than the ‘Lannister’s’.” 

Jaime reaches over for my hand--and I know it’s only because Robbie did the same earlier--and gives it a squeeze. He can’t kiss me here, and it’s killing him. “Stop being so obtuse and tell them the story.” 

He’s grinning because we have history and he’s rubbing it in Robert’s face. What he fails to realize is that we’ll always have history, and no one would expect any different from twins. Whatever he’s trying to accomplish, isn’t working. 

Regardless, the origins of Rampant aren’t all that fascinating. You see, father used to make Jaime and I perform as a duet way back before we understood what all the words to our songs even meant. We went by our last name, which only upped father’s recognition in the biz and we sang the sappy vanilla shit you would expect from a pair of almost identical ten year olds. He wanted us to become the next Disney sensation, dressing us in matching pastel sets, giving us recycled lyrical garbage all set to a kidz bop beat. Just like father, he dragged it out until we were well into puberty and had absolutely no right to market ourselves so pure. 

My tits and hips had come in and the wardrobe chicks just worked harder to reduce and minimize my body. Jaime’s voice came in and father upped his hours with a vocal coach each week to better hide the change. I got my first period and no one that should have noticed or cared, did. We were immortalized as ten year old Lannister twins, with no end in sight. 

When I was seventeen, I simply couldn’t bear it anymore. The more dramatic types out there might even go so far as to call what I had, a breakdown. I set fire to all the polyester pantsuits in my closet, found some black lipstick and convinced Jaime to take his shirt off and wear ripped up jeans on stage. Keep in mind that up until that point, Jaime only ever used an acoustic guitar in front of father, never an electric. That was something he did behind closed doors, usually after he did me. We would dream about how life would be if we could just come out and be ourselves. I hadn’t taken the bass up yet, but I had been eyeing it. I knew father would have a shit-fit if he ever saw me holding one.

Our setlist was filled with shitty lounge music that had been given a ‘funky beat’ by men my father’s age who had studies to prove that it would appeal to the masses. Father always insisted we play at least one Sinatra song because that was his favorite and he said the man knew how to spin gold. 

So there we were--me in the middle of a rebellion and Jaime tagging along--in head to toe Hot Topic apparel, stepping onto a stage that expected something more akin to the Osmunds. 

There were gasps. 

Jaime almost turned around to leave when I held my hand up to stop him and leaned into the mic. Pure anarchy bubbled up the back of my throat as I thanked the audience for coming to see us and told them that we had a song to sing for them. As an extra fuck you to father, Jaime and I gave ‘Strangers In The Night’ a metal edge by laying on the distortion peddle a bit hard and injecting growls in Sinatra’s natural pauses. It wasn’t our best performance, but it definitely got the point across. We were done being Daddy’s little playthings, and we let the world know it.

We were on an adrenaline high when we got off stage, knowing we had just crossed a line we couldn’t uncross. We acted out-- _ in public! _ We held hands as we faced our father, expecting his wrath to be unlike anything we had experienced before, and strangely excited for it. What we didn’t anticipate was that he would congratulate us on such a ‘stellar’ performance and condone our image change. Apparently, all those gasps and wide-eyes were not because the audience was horrified, but instead captivated. 

Father even liked how we bastardized one of his favorite songs. “Keep doing things like that and the sky’s the limit! There’s so many songs we could remake,” he promised with the slightest indentation on the side of his mouth that would be a dimple on most people. Though, he would never go so far as to actually smile.

And that was that. My plan backfired and we’ve been hardcore ever since. It used to upset me, but I’ve embraced the eyeliner and hairspray. Leather pants and fishnet shirts let the world know I’m not pure and sweet and wearing them is the closest I can get to being honest about my true nature with anyone but Jaime. 

Tyrion told us we needed a name and sent us a list of various suggestions that we both rolled our eyes at. Jaime and I were high as a kite watching a nature show when it hit us. “Father had taken Jaime and I to the zoo one day,” I lie. Father would never bother taking us to the zoo--there was no profit in it. “And we were by the lion pen during feeding time.” 

“Yikes, I can only imagine what that was like,” Margaery says, inserting herself. 

“Lions are messy eaters,” I say, ignoring her. “Blood stains the ground around them as they feast.” 

“Exactly,” Jaime agrees. “And it wouldn’t have occurred to us if we hadn’t been listening to the attendant talk while we were watching them eat.” 

The audience grows silent, some leaning in further as if they would be able to hear us any better than the speakers above their heads allow. Margaery makes a little surprised look as she asks, “What did they attendant say?”

I remember what the Nova special said as I repeat it through my own lens, “He said that in the wild, ‘lions run  _ rampant  _ on crimson fields.’ And Jaime and I just turned to each other and it was a total lightbulb moment.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing,” Margaery swoons. 

“Yeah, jesus.” Robbie laughs. “Way cooler than how we came up with Storm’s End.” 

A short man standing beside the camera guy holds his hand up to let Margaery know that time is running out. Too bad for Robbie, she isn’t able to ask him about his band, not that they need the press now that they are on a hiatus. Margaery grins. “It seems as though it’s time for a short break! When we come back, Jaime will be singing us all one of the songs from his new solo album!”

The resulting clapping, cheering, whistles, and catcalling just reinforces what father and the little monster have been asserting. Jaime flashes me and Robbie a grin as he gets up and heads over to the other stage. I eye him as a guy from Margaery’s house band straps a guitar to him. 

It’s weird to not go up there with him. I finger the ends of my hair, careful not to mess up the styling. There’s enough hairspray in here to choke a horse. I’m certain my stylist has a cache of all the remaining bottles of Aquanet ever produced. I don’t complain though, because she makes my hair look bomb for the stage. 

Even though we’re on a commercial break the women in the audience are still losing it over Jaime as the band does a quick soundcheck. I can see why. His leather pants leave little to the imagination. His vintage Lita Ford tee, strategically ripped to show his ribs--and my kiss, make a girl want to trace every bump and ridge with her tongue. The claw marks tattooed on his right bicep are meant to look like they came from a lion, a silent homage to the day we spent baked in front of the tv and named our band. To those that don’t know that, they just look badass. 

“We’re back!” Margaery announces, standing next to Jaime. She waits for the applause to die down before she turns to him. “Now Jaime, is it true that you wrote the song you’re going to sing for us all by yourself?” 

He nods his head. “It sure is.” 

“Quite the departure from writing everything with sis, huh?” 

“Yeah, but she’s still such a strong influence in my writing. I could almost hear her voice in my head as I was putting it together.” He shoots me a look. “We got a good thing going with Rampant. It’s hard to step away from it, even if it’s only temporary.” 

My chest tightens and I hate him a little, for it. Too bad I love him more. 

Her hand rests on his forearm as she says, “What’s it called, sugar?”

Robbie leans over the armrest to my chair. “Damn, maybe I should make a solo.” 

I give him a smile just to seem pleasant when I see Jaime’s lip curl in disgust. Was it because Margaery had her hands on him? Or because Robbie leaned into me? 

“All Mine,” he says, his voice hard. 

The audience gasps at the possessive words. Margaery saunters off and the band starts playing. The spotlight stays with Jaime as he strums his guitar.

I don’t know this song--not the name or the tune. I listen closely to see if there’s even a hint of something that he may have been working on around me. I recognize nothing and it’s gripping my heart. For the first time ever, he wrote something without me. 

“He’s got a good riff going,” Robbie admits. 

“Mmhmm.” 

“I mean, I would hit that note a little higher to give it more of an impact, but to each their own.” 

“Yeah,” I agree, not really listening to him or even knowing what I’m saying. I’m too busy watching Jaime as he moves to his own music, about to break the instrumental with some lyrics. 

Jaime’s voice is velvet pouring over the mic. “We wake up in my bed again.” 

He sings through the audience’s excited and scandalized cry. “The morning sun shines on our clothes, crumpled on the floor. After a long night spent begging for more.”

How many times had I woken up to the picture he painted? Probably as many times as we’re off the road and free from prying eyes.

“We play it safe, and pretend--that it didn’t mean a thing.” Jaime takes a breath. “But it did. Oh, it did. It did.”

I’m convinced the front row is going to lose an article of clothing by the time he’s finished with the song. Someone should remind them that this is a talk show, not a concert. I want to be mad at Jaime for exploiting our dirty little secret for his own gain, but I’m simply too affected to do anything but watch. 

His muscles flex as he plays his guitar. “Every time any  _ he  _ that’s not  _ me  _ looks your way,” he sings with particular emphasis. “Girl, let me make it clear-- _ crystal _ .”

His vocal range is so profound it puckers all my sensitive flesh.

“I’m done with pretend.” He turns back toward me and the band, and it’s so natural. It’s as if he’s any other entertainer just making sure he has given the entire studio his attention. He’s so good at hiding what we share, that even I start to wonder if he’s looking at me or all of us. And then his eyes catch mine. “You’re mine.” He suddenly unleashes a growl for his chorus, “ _ All mine! _ ” 

Well, when he puts it like that, what choice do I have but to sit here, puddling my seat? His possession is going beyond logic and reason and speaking to a primitive part of me--one that I have zero control over. He likes it that way, I know. When I don’t have a choice but to submit to my urges--to him. I glance around to see who’s figured out that it’s me, he’s referring to. Fortunately, everyone’s eyes are glued to him. 

He keeps singing all our secrets and tossing me loaded looks. My pulse beats loud in my head as I consider the very real threat of exposure. To my continued surprise, there isn’t a single persecutory glance my way. 

“That one’s going to be a hit.” 

“Mm.” 

“He’s going to get so much ass.” 

I can hear the brakes screeching in my brain. Slowly, I turn to Robbie. “What was that?” 

He shrugs. “This song is right up a lot of chicks' alley, if you know what I’m saying.” 

Oh, I do. And he’s right. 

“Does he always move around that much?” He asks, clearly sizing Jaime up as he works the stage. 

I nod. 

“It’s good cardio.” 

I bite the inside of my cheek, wishing I wasn’t sharing this moment with Robbie B. Or anyone else for that matter. Jaime is performing a song that he wrote all on his own, and it’s about me--about us. 

Every word he sings hits me hard and then fades to make way for the next, wreaking my heart and fucking up my mascara. The song is over in a blur and Jaime takes his place beside me again. Energy radiates off of him, warming my side and drawing me to him. I shift in my seat and lean on the armrest we share, just to get closer. 

Margaery prattles on for a while, wondering aloud what woman inspired the lyrics to Jaime’s song. He’s very tongue and cheek--because he has to be--and it drives all the good girl fans mental. Robbie is right, Jaime’s ‘I don’t kiss and tell’ approach will fuel their fantasies for quite a while. When she directs her attention to the rest of us, we all give her scripted answers and then blow kisses and wave to the audience as the show comes to a close. 

The lights dim and the crowd voices their disappointment as Margaery’s crew starts signalling them toward their exits. We brought our own guys along as well to stop any excited fans that get by Margaery’s people. I stand and shake Margaery’s hand, hollowly thanking her for having us, my head swimming with everything. Jaime walks ahead, the center of attention, while we all trail behind. We used to walk side by side. That was when father was focused on marketing the fact that we’re twins. Now with emphasis on Jaime going solo, this is how it’s going to be.

My jaw clenches as I consider this turn of events. Robbie falls in step beside me and I swallow down my feelings yet again to give him a polite smile. He grins back and throws an arm around me. He gives my cheek a quick kiss. “I look forward to practice. We’re gonna do great work together. I can feel it.” 

And I stop feeling annoyed that he was bold enough to give me a peck in the first place, and smile. Truly. It’s nice to finally feel appreciated, even if he was only being polite. 

Jaime staked his claim to me for everyone with ears to hear, and then strolled away without a care in the world. How entirely  _ male  _ of him. For the right price, father dictates how I dress and who I talk to. Tyrion easily decides my career with the wrong idea whispered in the right ear. I thought Jaime was different. As my brother, my twin, I thought that he understood. Apparently not. All the softer, more tender moments we shared were just to set the stage for him to swoop in and ban me from sharing my bed with anyone but him. 

Well fuck that hard and dry. 

I’m so completely over being under anyone’s thumb. 

I bat my eyelashes up at Robbie and snuggle into his side. It’s all friendly for now, but for the first time, I’m actually open to the possibility that it could be more. Jaime and I know we can’t avoid fucking other people forever, and I’ve definitely reminded him of that enough. But that doesn’t mean I’ve ever actually been ready for it before. Looking at Robbie now, the words to my brother’s song echoing in my head, I’m starting to see that there’s no time like the present.

Giggles give away a group of girls hiding behind a curtain. Margaery is long gone, so our roadies don’t hesitate to pull it back and reveal all the tramps waiting for some D. Bronn is the first to stand before them, cocking his head in contemplation while he makes his selection. Robbie gives me another squeeze before he pulls away. “Send me the deets and I’ll be there for practice.” 

He walks toward the group and slaps Bronn on his back. He holds and arm out and a brunette in a mini skirt squees in excitement and races over to slide right into his embrace. I shouldn’t be surprised, but a small part of me is. It’s silly of me to think he’s above a little free action. After all, boys will be boys and all that sexist bullshit. 

“I would never do that to you. I’d never be so fucking selfish.” 

Goosebumps spread over my neck and shoulder at the feel of Jaime’s warm breath. I have no idea how he suddenly appeared--he was ahead of us before, and now he’s behind me. His chin rests on my shoulder while we watch Robbie pick a dolly to play with.

I try to ignore how good Jaime feels while I decide I’m not affected by Robbie’s decision. It’s not like we’re together. Even if we were, it wouldn’t matter anyway because it’s not like we’re in love and it’s just pussy, nothing more. I run my tongue over my teeth to keep my emotions at bay and strike back at Jaime instead. “No, you’re selfish in other ways.” 

“Cers,” Jaime groans, his hands going to my hip. I shake him off and walk away because I have no interest in hanging around for whatever lip service he wants to give. Or to look into those eyes and see what’s always there awaiting me. 


	5. Send Me to Hell

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

I mean, we talked about it enough--Jaime and I. But, I never wanted to before. A small twinge of guilt makes me question whether or not I truly want to now. I take another swig of Jack to shut my second guessing the hell up. I’m too far in to change my mind. And besides, if I’m ever going to check out other dudes, the best time to do it would be now, when Jaime and I are taking a bit of a break from one another. 

It’s not official--it’s just that we’re both righteously pissed and cold shouldering hard. Let him feel the loneliness that a serious lack of me provides. I’ve got Robbie eating out of the palm of my hand. I want Jaime, but I don’t  _ need  _ him, and I’m going to make sure he learns that tonight. 

Robbie's fingers threaded through mine. They’re so much bigger than Jaime’s. I wonder if hands are like feet and glance down at his boots. It’s hard to tell how big they are and ultimately how big his cock is going to be. I hope it’s big so I can gloat to Jaime after. I really want to knock him down a peg. Especially after that redheaded bitch--who wormed her way backstage--cozied up to him at this very after party. And he let her! It was deliberate too. He waited until he saw Robbie flirting with me before he whispered something in her ear that had her giggling and stroking his chest. 

_ ‘I would never do that to you. _ ’ 

Bullshit. Of course, he would be that _ ‘fucking selfish.’  _ I know she means nothing to him, but he used her to get to me, all the same. Out of the two of us, it’s always been me that’s talked about our need to fuck around. He’s never even been remotely interested in sowing his wild oats. Every time we drink and get a bit wild, I let my eyes take in the hunky scenery of sexy musicians and beefy roadies and Jaime’s hands on my body just get more greedy and more insistent, refusing to lose my attention. 

My brother needs what we have more than I do and it’s killing him. It’s how I win every argument, because he will always fold in order to keep me. We’ve fought before, but this is probably the worst it’s ever been--me actually pursuing someone other than him for a change. Which, I refuse to feel bad about. I mean, what did he think would happen? That seventy years down the road, I’d still only ever take my top off for him? Doubtful. I mean, there’s how many fish in the sea? And so what if Jaime’s the only person that gets me, I’m allowed to take a fucking vacation from all the serious and clandestined. Aren’t I? 

Before I can think too hard on it, Robbie tugs my arm and I stumble forward, crashing into him. He chuckles as he catches me, keeping me upright...for the time being, anyway. I feel his beard tickling my neck with messy kisses. Jaime’s always clean shaven--maybe that’s why this feels so different. 

I need to stop. I can’t keep comparing them. Trying to keep my head in the game, I let my mind wander to when Robbie took the stage. I was definitely not thinking of my brother then. 

“Sating our cravings,” Robbie sung into the mic. The lights shone different on his dark brown hair than it did Jaime’s long blonde. My heart took off in a gallop as Robbie promised, “Gonna scratch those itches--til they bleed.” It didn’t matter that they were Jaime’s words, listening to them sung in Robbie’s husky voice gave me tingles. 

I know what you’re thinking-- _ Jaime’s words? _ And to answer your question, yes. ‘Send Me to Hell’ is way more Jaime’s song than mine. He said it was all the words he’d ever have to say about life--a commentary on excess and not giving a single solitary shit what the consequences of it were. It was this exact mentality that fuelled our image and shot Rampant into such stardom. It became our entire life and I could never imagine leaving it, or Jaime for that matter. It was foolish of me to be so short-sighted. Jaime definitely had no qualms about ditching out to focus entirely on himself and his career--solo. Sans me.

It’s strange, he’s solo at the moment, but you would never know it. He’s supposed to be gone. Instead, for whatever reason, he’s lingering around. When he isn’t recording, he’s backstage, watching while the band performs--without him. At this rate, he should have just stayed on and done the tour in conjunction, but father said he wanted him to save his voice. Heaven forbid he strain it. Wherever would the profits go?

I felt his critical eye watching me from behind the curtain the entire time Robbie and I shared the stage. It was hard not to notice his cringing each time Robbie sang the chorus, “Send. Me. To.  _ HELL! _ ” It wasn’t that someone else was singing Jaime’s song. It was was that Robbie sang it like it was his very own. He had no right to, and yet, we really shouldn’t have expected anything less. That was the job father hired him to do. 

Hordes of horny girls screamed at the top of their lungs and whipped their bras and panties around at Robbie’s showmanship. If I had to count, I’d say there was a damn sight more in attendance than there were at any of Rampant’s usual concerts. Which made a sad sort of sense. It wasn’t Robbie’s hand on my thighs that had Jaime so riled. It had to be the fact that Robbie pulled larger crowds that put a bur up his ass. My brother is as vain as I am, so I don’t fool myself into thinking all his anger is about me when I know he can’t stand the hit to his ego. 

A door clicks shut behind me and I realize that Robbie and I are alone--in a back room. At an after party. There’s no misunderstanding here. We’re fucking. It’s going to happen. He wants it and I guess I do too or I wouldn’t have let myself get in this situation in the first place. 

It’s dark and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to see in what little light the sliding glass door on the balcony provides. His hands are on me, pawing at my clothes. Jaime always trails his hands over the curves of my body, and while Robbie’s movements are much less smooth, I figure this must be something alike in every man. My head falls back and I smile at the ceiling as he peels back the cups of my leather bustier because I love it when my tits are adored. I gasp when he consumes them with his greedy drunk mouth. 

Fuck. This is good. 

Feeling a bit tipsy, myself--more from my raging hormones than the booze, I think--I grab his shoulders and dig my nails in. I’m losing myself in the sensation and if we’re being a hundred percent honest, I’m not all that interested in being found. 

His teeth drag over my belly, reaching for my fly. I run my fingers through his hair and they catch in the elastic band before I growl and rip it out. He chuckles and the hot air he exhales over my pussy has me making a mess of my tiny devil-may-care studded thong. His long brown hair flows over his shoulders and I tangle my hands in it, squealing in surprise when he suddenly lifts me up. 

“What are you doing?” I’ve only ever been off the ground like this when Jaime throws me over his shoulder while we’re ‘wrestling.’

Robbie turns and strides across the room. “You.” 

“Yeah, I gathered that,” I joke back, suddenly uncomfortable by this turn of events. Every second without his mouth on me is giving me unnecessary time to think. I’ve never been with anyone but Jaime. I know I give Jaime a good time, but that doesn’t mean Robbie will feel the same way. What if he tells people I’m a shitty lay? That is not a reputation I can afford. 

He drops me on my feet and plops down on the couch. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Robbie definitely lacks Jaime’s more cat-like grace. I stand between his legs, bewildered for a moment, watching him undo his belt and pull a condom from his back pocket.

So much for foreplay. 

The sound of foil tearing open has reality hitting me with the force of a mack truck. If I don’t hop on and ride his dick ‘til he fills that reservoir tip, then shit is going to turn awful on tour. I’ll be called a cock-tease at best, though knowing how vain men like Robbie can be, I’ll be branded a frigid freak instead to avoid injuring his pride. 

My hands fly to my pants and push them down my thighs. I can coax myself through a little stage fright to avoid dealing with the aftermath of refusing him. Unfortunately, my mind won’t shut up as I kick my pants aside and straddle him. If this isn’t good and Robbie says I’m a terrible lay, Jaime will go ballistic when he finds out. I mean, he’s going to livid when he finds out I went through with this anyway, but he wouldn’t tolerate a blemish on my character. That is--I hesitate while a particularly upsetting thought crosses my mind--unless he’s beyond anger and onto apathy. Too done with me to care that I finally broadened my horizons on someone else’s dick. 

Ouch. The idea of that is giving me heartburn. 

“Cute.” Robbie chuckles down between us, interrupting my inner disquiet. I’m bracing myself on the back of the couch, staring into his blue eyes. In the light of day they are crushed crystals that sparkle like diamonds in a display case. On stage, they turn into kaleidoscopes, absorbing all the colors of the lights that flash around us and reflecting them back in the flecks of his irises, tripping you out and mesmerizing you to his performance. 

Here, alone and in the dark, they are black holes with just a glitter of star dust to indicate where they are. I can’t decipher them. They change so much, that I can’t get a read on them. Perhaps that’s why I allowed myself to get hot over him in the first place. The excitement of the unknown.

I feel a tickle against my sex as his finger fishes inside and tugs at my thong. It’s then that I realize he’s referring to my choice in undergarments. It’s a black leather thong with studs and the words,  _ Put Away Wet.  _

Actually, they weren’t my choice, but I rock them out anyway. Before you ask for clarification, yes, costume and makeup extends to undergarments. I don’t know why, it just does. I stopped arguing over it years ago, and besides, what was I really winning by ‘winning’ that argument? The right to cram oversized granny panties into skin-tight leather pants? No, thank you. 

I don’t have the chance to make any sort of witty retort, before Robbie drives two fingers deep inside me. I gasp and he thinks I like it--I can tell by the smile on his face. I don’t  _ not  _ like it...it’s just different. I need to adjust. His fingers and hands are bigger than Jaime’s, and Jaime teases me more, coaxes his fingers inside me. For as forceful as Jaime can be, he’s also quite careful with me.

I’m doing it again. Stop thinking of Jaime!

I force a smile on my face as I squirm on Robbie’s digits, trying to get some lube going--which is actually kind of difficult to do since he still hasn’t touched my clit yet and he just keeps shoving his fingers up to his knuckles like that alone will get me off.

Let’s be clear--it won’t. 

Jaime knows that because he knows me, but for Robbie, I guess I just took for granted that any man with a bedpost so full of notches would get that too… Yikes. How can he not know this? Determined to make this work, I roll my hips, trying to find his thumb to grind on. Of course, it’s gone MIA. I glance down and see he’s got it tucked under my thigh while he finger-bangs me even harder. Points for effort, too bad I have to dock him some for ignorance regarding the basic mechanics of sex. For whatever reason, Robbie’s keeping his thumb out of play. What the hell good is that doing anyone right now?

He leans forward and nibbles on my ear. “You’re so wet.” 

He thinks this is wet? This is nothing. This is me trying to make do. I hide my surprise over his shoulder, and even though I feel like I should say something, I keep my mouth shut. What if he detects the disappointment in my voice? Jaime’s always so sensitive to things like that--the way I sound and feel. 

I decide to keep my answer short and simple and just agree for the sake of it. “Yeah.” 

Apparently, Robbie is not so sensitive or thoughtful. My quick affirmation is all he needs to hear before his fingers desert me as quickly as they intruded. Slightly stunned, I blink while he rolls the cherry-red condom on with both hands--seriously, what self-respecting man needs two hands for this?--and grabs my thighs, dragging me forward. 

I don’t have a chance to think, or even get a look at his package, before he pulls my hips down at that same time he drives his up. 

Yep, that’s a cock. 

Strange, I’m not thinking about any of the things I thought I would with another man inside me. His size and girth aren’t even a blip on my radar. Neither is the feel of my own pussy reacting to such an invasion. Instead, I’m consumed with the overwhelming realization that I can’t undo this. I can’t change my mind and decide I’m not ready to fuck someone else or choose not to go ‘all the way.’ It’s done--even though it’s not. It’s actually, far from being over with and I’m left feeling hostage to the regret that seeps in and sinks to the pit of my stomach to rot it out like toxic sludge. 

I’m supposed to want this. I know I did before, or at least, I convinced myself that I did. Now, I wouldn’t mind being anywhere but here. He’s guiding me up and down, groaning filthy things about how good my pussy feels, how tight my hole is, how great I take his dick, etc. These are all things that should make me feel sexy, but his dirty talk just makes me feel kind of gross and... _ disposable _ . 

So this is what casual sex feels like. I’m one in a million to him and he’s simply not-Jaime to me.

Enough! 

I signed on for this, and I refuse to be miserable. I am going to stand by my decision and have a good time, damn it. Closing my eyes, I remember the way he sang, “Send Me to Hell,” as he pummels my insides. I know imagining Jaime will get me to the finish in two seconds flat, but doing so seems like some sort of offense, not that I particularly owe Robbie anything. 

“Oh, I’m a certified sinner and you’re my-” He took a breath, his powerful arm gripping the mic, as he threw his head back to belt out, “My  _ favorite-- _ siiiiiiin!” 

Jaime came up with this song back when we were sixteen and father ditched us at Disney. It was a great photo-op to have the Lannister twins doing normal family stuff. Father, of course, did not include himself because he said it wasn’t good for our image to have an adult looming around. Fans wanted to see us as little adults, and at that age, we wanted to see ourselves that way too--not that we hadn’t already for quite a while. That’s what happens when a mixture of television and nannies raise you. 

We were in the middle of the Haunted Mansion ride when Jaime slid out of his seat and got between my legs. Never before had he ever gone down on me in such a public place and once I got past the shock, I came the hardest I ever had. Wiping me from his mouth with the back of his hand, he proclaimed that eating me out was his ‘favorite sin.’ I told him to prove it and later that night he grabbed my notebook and wouldn’t give it back until he had written the first couple verses to ‘Send Me to Hell.’ I, of course, made a couple of adjustments here and there and the song went platinum. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Robbie encourages and I smirk, pleased to discover that even though my mind is wandering, I’ve rendered his mush. Never underestimate the power of a well toned cooter. 

“ _ Ann- _ ” he grunts, rapidly slapping into me. “ _ Na-a _ .”

My brain pumps the brakes. What the hell did he just say? Was that a name? And very much  _ not  _ my name? 

“Oh, baby. Yeah, just like that,” he carries on, as if he didn’t say someone else’s name. As if this fucking is even good fucking at all--which it isn’t. One of his hands, releases it’s clamp on my hips. For a second, I start to doubt whether or not I heard him right, but that train of thought is interrupted by a loud clap...on my ass…

What in the actual fuck, right now? 

Robbie B just spanked my bare ass-- _ hard _ . Like it was his to use and abuse anytime he wanted, like I am his girl or something. Which, let the record state that I most certainly am not. I made no promises to this guy. And now that we’re on the subject, if this was anything more than casual, he would be a serious disappointment. He isn’t even rubbing it better! Jaime always rubs each of his spankings after. He says it’s to soothe the sting, but I think he just likes rubbing my ass. 

I’ve completely stopped riding Robbie, but he doesn’t seem to care one lick because he’s doing all the work with his eyes squeezed shut, so close to his finish. I might as well be his right hand with the way he’s throwing me so carelessly on and off his cock, jerking himself off with me. “Fuck, yes! Right there!” 

His whole body is tense and I’m just straight up gawking at this point. Everyone’s ‘O’ face is funny--the tightness, how lips screw up and spit flies while eyes tear--but his is disgustingly gross. I’m embarrassed for him. Somehow, Jaime always manages to come in a way that has me ready for round two. I never laugh at the way his jaw tightens, or how his brow furrows, concentrating on obliterating my insides with one final blow. Orgasm between us is no laughing matter. For as secret and sinful as it is, it’s sacred.

“ _ Lyanna _ !”

The name fills my ears and freezes me in place--not that I was still bothering to move much anyway--and I feel him spew into the condom. Any doubt I might have had before as to whether he was calling a name or unintelligibly grunting, is now gone.

Who the fuck is Lyanna? 

Does he think I am her? He was pretty messed up when we found our little private space, but he can’t really be that far gone that he doesn’t know what woman he’s currently dick deep in. No fucking way. No one ever treats me like this. I am Cersei-fucking-Lannister, the golden goddess of rock! 

“The fuck?!” I screech as I push off his chest and leap up on my feet, wavering a second from the momentum. Less than gracefully, I stagger back and fall on the coffee table. Thank you very much Johnny Walker Blue Label. I scramble up quickly, not giving one shit how stupid I probably look, just grateful his dick is way the fuck out of me. 

Robbie cracks a grin as he catches his breath and lifts his head. “What’s the matter, doll? You got yours, didn’t you?”

Doll? 

The fucking nerve. He did NOT just equate me to a groupie! I am a performer, a talented bassist, and the best goddamned lyricist in my genre. I get that Robbie isn’t exactly a regular with Rampant, and every band calls their whores different things, but I know he knows what ‘doll’ means to me--what my band has made it mean.

I’m so beyond offended, I wish I could scrub my insides, just scrape out every bit of flesh that I ever allowed to come into contact with his. My hands are shaking as I search the floor for my pants and haul them up as quickly as I possibly can. I hate myself for looking so weak in front of him. I wring my hands out in some backwards special-ed version of jazz hands to try to gain control of them again. Of course it doesn’t work. Loathing fills me up until I’m suffocating and I clench my jaw to keep from crying like a little bitch in front of him. 

I’m here because I put myself here. I refuse to be a victim. He repulses me and it’s not because I don’t love him. It’s not that he’s a casual hookup--which it seems isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s not even that he had the audacity to forget who he was fucking--although, that’s pretty bad. 

It’s that, once again, my entire worth has been reduced to the fact that I walk around with a hole between my legs. Don’t believe me? Let’s look at this screwed up situation for a moment: Robbie just called me a doll, completely disregarding anything about me but my fuckability. Tyrion sees only my marketability as a female bassist. Father reminds me that I’m only a brand--the chick side of the Lannister Twin coin. 

Jaime is the only one. The only one who sees me as more than my anatomy. He calls me Cers when we’re around others and his Sunshine when we are alone. I’m never any less than exactly who I am to him. Even when we’re not talking. Even when we hate each other. I am always worth something to him. And I just let someone else inside of me…

I’m moving before I even know what I’m doing or where I’m going. Although, it’s pretty obvious, I’m going to him. My heart has taken over all control of my body and I need to be with him. 

Robbie fixes his ponytail and asks, “Where’re you going? Game for round two?” 

“Not likely.” Before he can ask why--not that he would bother--I growl, “Next time you fuck someone, you should remember who she is before you call out the wrong name.”

He starts laughing. The bastard. “That’s what got your panties in a twist?” 

I don’t answer, just keep walking for the door, disheveled and definitely looking like I just rolled off a cock--the wrong one. 


	6. Don't Care

I don’t remember the ride to Jaime’s at all. Not getting in my car, cruising down the freeway, or even buzzing open his gate with the pass code I know by heart. I only snap out of my haze when the door opens and he’s standing there, in nothing but a pair of jeans...fly open...lipstick smeared on his lips…

Behind him, stands the stupid redhead from the party. She’s also half dressed and just as messy as he is.

I did not see that coming. Not from Jaime. My brother is nothing if not loyal. Before tonight, he probably thought the same about me. I guess we’re both full of surprises. Great. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic.

“Jaime-baby, who is it?” Her voice is phone-operator-sexy and way too satisfied for my liking. 

I avoid looking at her (as if she’ll somehow disappear if I don’t acknowledge her directly) and instead, find his eyes. Our gaze locks, and two sets of emeralds--pure and full of imperfection--bore into each other with all the power and might only love possesses. They crack and shatter under the pressure of such will and determination. I blink away the sting of it as I grit my teeth. “Did you fuck her yet?” 

His grip on the door tightens and his arm flexes in cords of muscle--muscle that has held me close, more than a time or two. His brow furrows in that way it does when he’s pissed but is still trying to keep his cool anyway. I can see the vein in his neck pulse as he considers whether or not to answer me. Or perhaps, he’s trying to decide whether or not to lie. 

You probably think I deserve it--if he lies. Maybe I do. But fuck that. One ugly mistake doesn’t take away the fact that I’m his sister, his lover, his god damned everything. 

He must sense my desperate need to know because he decides to end my misery. “No.”

Thank fuck. It’s not too late to save him from making the same mistakes I made. Unless, of course, he’s lying. In which case, also thank fuck. If he’s lying, it means he wants to save me the heartache. Whether or not he dipped his dick in this thirsty bitch, he still loves me. 

“Make her leave.” It comes out as an order, as if I have any right to make any such demands of him at all, ever again.

He knows where I’ve been. That’s why ginger-snatch is here in the first place. It’s the only way he’d ever let her--or anyone like her--past the front gate. His guard is down and she’s not giving up the opportunity to dig her talons in deep. So far, sadly, she has a leg up on me. She hasn’t hurt him like I have. I stand still, covered in the stale stink of my regrets and wait for him to punish me with rejection. 

Ever the mind reader, his eyes move from mine. They travel deliberately slow over my body, shaming every square inch for allowing another access. His desire for me--body and mind--is unequivocal. Always has been. So it is that hesitation and doubt I suddenly see in him now that shreds my insides.

“Leave,” he calls over his shoulder, and I finally breathe. Even scorned, Jaime chooses me over all others. That’s because he needs me--which is extremely useful to me at the moment. He is going to take me back, because I’ll make him if I have to. The thought of him being too hurt to care about me anymore is too much and I refuse to bear it. 

“What?” 

I crane my neck to look around him. She has the audacity to act confused. Well, let me make things perfectly clear. We definitely wouldn’t want any misunderstandings here. Throwing my shoulders back, I clench my fists and bark, “Are you deaf, bitch?” 

She glances between us and Jaime never takes his eyes off me. He never moves or says a word, completely ignoring her presence. She gasps and stomps her foot--actually,  _ stomps  _ her foot. I can’t make this shit up. I give her a little shrug that silently says,  _ That’s right bitch, pack your shit. _ And luckily, she does. Snatching her things up, she whines, “Who turns down willing pussy for his fucking  _ sister _ ?” She’s like an annoying fly buzzing in our ears and gets about the same amount of attention.

Jaime finally breaks the silence with a slight curve of his lips. “Family comes first.” The smile doesn’t reach his eyes so I know his good humor is for show. 

Like a good showman, he doesn’t disappoint. My cheeks are aflame with poorly checked emotion as we stand opposite one another. But we’re not opposite, not by a long shot. He and I are more than brother and sister. We are one person in two bodies. Only when he is in me, do I feel whole. 

Thankfully, the slut-bag takes her leave, shoving by him. I get a good look at her up close as she sneers past me. Her nostrils are red from the cocaine she snorted earlier and she smells like all the cheap knock off perfume groupies wear poured into the same ninety-nine cent bottle. Her heels are clicking on the walkway as she screams, “No wonder you couldn’t get it up!” 

I turn my head back to look at Jaime, to see if what she said was true. The way he purses his lips before he steps aside to hold the door for me, tells me it most definitely was. He’s embarrassed and I am relieved. Jaime's young and virile, so if his dick wasn't cooperating, it means his head wasn't in it. Was he thinking of me?

I take a proud step inside, glancing around as I do. Let me just explain, I’m not proud of what I’ve done tonight, but kicking that cunt to the curb gives me the small shot of confidence I need to enter this lion’s den. 

As soon as I enter, I realize I’m going to need to cling to my brave face to get through this, because even though the decor hasn’t changed a lick since the last time I was here--seven hours ago--his place suddenly feels so foreign to me. I’m not certain whether it’s because he contaminated it with some other girl’s presence, or because I ruined it by carrying another man’s scent on my body. I only know that I am no longer welcome, and since riding Robbie’s lap, I’ve become more of an intruder here than a guest. 

Silence, again, hangs between us and he’s not bothering to zip his fly or wipe his mouth. He wants me to see her on him, because clear as day, he can see Robbie on me. My stomach is churning and my palms are sweating. Anxiety ripples through me, and I wipe my hands on my thighs before trying to finger comb my hair. It’s a futile attempt to straighten myself out, and he sees right through it.

“What do you want, Cersei?” His tone is sharp and his question pointed, like if it were possible to stab me with it, he would.

_ You _ , is on the tip of my tongue, but it doesn’t come out. I let on to such needy honesty. He can already sense I’m anxious, which isn’t the best look for me. I lift my chin and say, “Why don’t you put some music on?”

He lifts a brow. It’s a silent question.  _ Are you kidding me?  _

I know he thinks I’m crazy for giving a shit about music at a time like this, but I don’t care. This silence is awful and I’m about to fill it with something we share. I want him to listen to us and what we’ve created together, and then try to tell me to leave. He won’t be able to. I’d bet money on it. 

I watch him turn and walk over to a hall table, his long golden hair cascading down over his shoulder blades. Even in the soft yellow glow of Jaime’s dim lights, his tan pops and makes him look absolutely glorious. He picks up a controller and clicks it once before tossing it back on the table and turning to face me. 

My heart speeds up when I see the expression on his face. Gone is the blank stare he gave me when I arrived, replaced now with raw anger he didn’t let out when his dolly was hanging around. He’s tightly coiled and ready to pounce as he walks toward me and excitement ripples through me. Him being this charged up definitely gives me hope. My brain doesn’t register the song until he’s standing inches in front of me, his eyes blazing wildfire. 

_ And you’re my favorite sin.  _

_ Send me to Hell!  _

I glance away as the song I just betrayed him to plays in the background. It came on unintentionally--I think. Though, a small part of me fears that maybe not. Jaime always has an eye on me. It’s ludicrous to think he might actually know, but I do... Swallowing the bile creeping up the back of my throat, I hold my head up high and refuse to let him know how I’ve forever tainted this song. Listening to the lyrics as we stand before each other is only the beginning of my secret self-imposed penance. 

_ Send me to hell!  _

_ It’s more bearable than staying here without your touch.  _

_ Without your taste.  _

_ Without your scent.  _

_ In my sheets and under my skin.  _

Oh, god. If only he knew.

A war rages across his face and pity gains a foothold in a terrain that’s been entirely owned by his anger up until this point. His face softens and he reaches for me, pulling me hard against him. His arms wrap around me tightly and he breathes into my neck. He says nothing, only holds me to him, as if us being reunited in an intimate embrace is enough to undo all the pain we’re both suffering. 

Maybe it is. 

_ Girl, all the hail-marys in the world don’t forgive the way, _

_ I need between your legs.  _

_ And in your heart.  _

_ Give me your sin. Give me, your sin. Give me, your--SIN! _

It really isn’t, though. 

_ Let me lick it up. _

It’s not enough by a long shot. 

_ And when all is said and done-- _

He sniffs against my ear and pulls my hair back over my shoulder so that his lips can touch my skin unfettered, and it’s the first time that I notice the tears rolling down his cheeks. I’m a little surprised, even though I shouldn’t be--Jaime never makes me feel anything alone. His kiss against the side of my head is sloppy and so fucking real that I can’t even stand it, but I want more. No. I  _ need  _ more, like it’s the healing salve required for me to make it through this awful night--this whole life. 

Jaime doesn’t ask me whether or not I fucked Robbie. He can already tell I did. Instead, his voice is thick, his own emotions caught in the back of his throat as he asks, “Was it what you wanted?” 

I shake my head against his, blinking away my own tears. “Not even close.”

_ Send me to hell! _

I hate that I opened myself up so personally to someone that wasn’t Jaime and I refuse to do it again. Jaime is mine and I won’t lose him. I won’t live a life seeking--and clearly, never finding--comfort in strangers like Robbie.

We stand there for minutes that stretch on. I don’t care, I won’t move until all the ugly fades away. It feels right everywhere our bodies touch, if only our connection could penetrate our flesh and save the rest of us. Jaime must feel the same because he’s just as unwavering. 

“Never again.” 

The hoarse demand in my ear sends a shiver through me. His hand comes up and gently squeezes the back of my neck. “ _ Never _ ,” he repeats. 

I lean back, fighting his grip so that I can look directly in his eyes. They are not the sharp pinpricks that I expect, ready to tear me apart. Instead, they are big and filled with more love for me than hatred--even still. 

He’s going to take me back. I know he is. 

I’m not foolish enough to believe this is forgiveness by any stretch of the imagination. If anything, this is resignation. As hurt as he is, he doesn’t want to go on without me. 

That is love. True-fucking-love. 

It’s not happily ever after, rainbows and cupcakes. It’s filled with vengeful moments, impossible decisions, and vital needs. It’s euphoric highs have a steep price tag and paying it takes a cruel and gruesome toll on your heart, repeatedly ripping it open and then hastily stitching it closed just in the nick of time--before you bleed out. Each heartache stretches that moment of peril just a bit longer than the last. And you know what? So be it. If our mutual need not to lose each other is all that keeps us together, then so be it. Because I need him to sew my heart back together already. 

I can’t handle this fatal inbetween. 

I nod my silent agreement and his lips part as he gazes back at me, a sad smile forming. He holds my hand in his and his voice is gruff as he says, “Come on.” 

Before I know it, I’m climbing stairs and relief pours over me. His bedroom is upstairs. Where we fuck and make love and hate everyone who isn’t us, is all at the top of those marble stairs. 

His fingertips dig into the straps on my shoulder, slowly stripping me. His mouth opens to ask me a question and it’s not the one I expect--the one I’ve read a thousand times in my guilty-pleasure jealous lover books. You know what question I’m talking about, the all-too-obvious, ‘Where did he touch you?’ Instead, he only asks, “Did you make him use a condom?” 

It’s ridiculous of him to ask, because Jaime and I always use one, so clearly I’ve set a precedent. If Robbie hadn’t already been of the same mind, I would have definitely insisted. Maybe this is a test, to see just how into Robbie I was. Jaime wants to know whether or not I found Robbie hot enough to forgo all my rules. Not fucking likely. Also, I think we can all agree here that for however attractive that man is, he ruins it with his selfish and lazy bedroom antics. 

I can tell Jaime needs me to answer, so I nod. “Yes.”

His forehead falls against mine and I gaze down at his nose, watching his eyelashes flutter shut as he breathlessly approves, “ _ Good _ .” 

I reach up and tuck some of his hair behind his ear. I don’t ask about the redhead because she doesn’t belong in this moment. I know she doesn’t matter, that he didn’t cross the same lines I did, and that ultimately she won’t be welcomed back here ever again. 

Not while he has me. 

And he does. 

Jaime has me now more than he ever has. The grass on the other side was nowhere near as green as the eyes that have melted my insides for as long as I can remember. I don’t know if all men are like Robbie, but I do know that there are no men like Jaime. Only Jaime. 

His lips run over my collar and I hear the neck of my top tear as he stretches it down over my shoulders to fall at my waist. I don’t care that he’s destroyed it, or that I have nothing to change into when it’s time to leave. I don’t want to leave. I arch into him as he unhooks my bra and feel the material scrape over my nipples as he pulls it down between us and tosses it aside. We both stand there holding each other bare from the waist up and I relish the feel of his hands spread wide on my back, possessively running the length of my spine. 

I snuggle into him further, submitting easily, wanting him to own me. His feeling the desire to take the lead will give me all the assurances I need that we are going to be alright. I need our familiar. He kisses me and although I’m the one he calls Sunshine, it is he that holds all the warmth and light inside. His lips break from mine and he holds my face as he confesses, “I hate that he fucked you.”

No. Robbie didn’t fuck me, I fucked him. I don’t correct Jaime because I know he wants to see it the other way around. He wants me to be more innocent than I am so that he can forgive me later when he’s ready. I try to turn my head out of his grasp and avert my gaze, but he won’t let me. I swallow the lump in my throat and say what he wants to hear, “Me too.” 

“Show me.” 

He pulls me further into his bedroom and we’re not taking this to the bed like I thought we would, but instead to his attached bathroom. I stand there awkwardly, parted from him. The cool breeze puckering my nipples until I cross my arms over them--not to hide, but to fight the chill. If Jaime notices, he doesn’t seem to care. He’s gone straight for his shower, and is working the dials. “Take off your pants.” 

I don’t think twice, only start stripping. When I’m done, so is he. I glance over to the mirror, wanting to see us both in our glory before our private view is obstructed by steam. We look amazing together, perfectly in sync. We will never find another person to compliment us as well as we do each other. Two golden adonises, made together and meant for one another. 

“I don’t want you to see him again,” he says as I step into the shower. It’s not a request, or even a demand. It’s edict and I will not argue. Not when I stand to lose this--us together right here and now, him guiding my head under the spray, wetting my hair.

“Mm?” He asks, reaching past me for shampoo. It’s unisex because he can’t ever be caught with my shit in his bathroom, and I refuse to smell like a man all day. We settled on these soaps for whenever I came over and right now, I’m grateful. There’s way more than the recommended quarter-sized amount in the palm of his hand that he rubs into a washcloth I never noticed him bring in the shower with us. “Do you hear me?”

Yeah. I hear him. I’m not answering because it’s difficult for me to concede anything to anyone. But Jaime’s different. He always has been. 

He touches the soaped cloth to my belly, but pauses to look me in the eye. At first, I think he’s silently asking for permission to bathe me, but now, seeing a glimpse of the indignation festering within, I know he doesn’t give two shits about my permission. His heartache is hardening inside him and the anger bubbling beneath the surface is starting to rise up again. He wants an answer from me, some sort of confirmation. I’m not sure how feasible staying away from Robbie is, seeing as how we are only a quarter of the way through a tour we commissioned him for, but again I say what he wants to hear, “Yeah.” And I actually believe in myself when I say it, because I am actually going to try.

He lowers his head in a mixture of agreement and concentration, pressing the washcloth harder into me, moving up to my breasts. He circles and encloses them and I’m ready for a seduction that doesn’t come. His movements are strictly hygienic in nature--focused only on cleansing me. The cloth brushes rough against me, as if with enough elbow grease, Jaime might be able to scrub any trace of Robbie’s touch from my flesh. As much as he’d like to, he can’t undo what transpired an hour ago. That doesn’t mean he isn’t still trying like hell. 

I let him because I know he needs this. Maybe I do too. 

He moves from my breasts to my neck and then over my shoulder and down my back. I stand there and take it, biting the inside of my cheek as my skin turns red from the heat combined with his harsh treatment. He’s soaping my ass as he speaks into my shoulder. “You’re moving in with me.” 

My eyes widen and I taste blood. Apparently, I bit my cheek a little too hard at that. We’ve never moved in together before because it would have been too suspicious. Adult brothers and sisters never live together--unless they are poor and it’s temporary. It just isn’t a “normal” way of life for anyone, so all eyes would be on us. The cloth comes around to my hip. “I don’t care what anyone says,” he speaks down between us as he moves to my pubic bone. “We’ll spin whatever story we need to.” 

I take a deep breath through my nostrils, and fireworks set off in my belly. The idea of living with Jaime is a fantasy come true. As the cloth moves down, my hips twitch and I close my eyes, willing myself to calm down. My body doesn’t give a fuck about my will. It wants what it wants, and it wants him inside. Jaime brings his face to mine as his hand wedges between my legs, working it back and forth until soap foam froths. 

Jaime gets jealous. That’s just who he is. But the possessiveness I’m suddenly faced with as I look back into his eyes, is downright thrilling. “From here on out, you’re in my bed.” His command has me trembling as he presses the cloth harder into me. I squirm in his grip at the resulting jolt of pleasure. “Each,” he grounds out. “And every.” He takes a step forward, his thigh imposing itself between mine. “Single.” He flattens himself against me, crushing me against the tile--never removing his hand. “Fucking.” His eyes are wide open staring into mine, holding me hostage as I hear him growl, “ _ Night _ .”

I can’t hold myself back anymore, I rock on his hand and smash my lips against his. At first, he doesn’t move and I worry he might actually resist, but then his lips part and he accepts me. I kiss him wildly and he matches my passion. To my disappointment, he takes his hand away, and lets the soapy cloth drop down to the shower floor. I whimper against him, lifting one leg over his hip, trying to chase his hand, his dick, his  _ anything _ . 

Come on, baby. I’m only getting started. Don’t quit on me now. 

All of a sudden, there’s a hot spray of water between us and I realize he’s rinsing the soap away. I pull from his lips to gasp at the feel of it’s rhythmic beat against my clit. My eyes meet his again and it isn’t hunger that I see in his, but instead, starvation. 

“Yes.” 

The word echoes off the tile and our hearts still. That word, uttered from my lips is consent. Consent to everything. To never seeing Robbie again, to moving in with Jaime, to staying exclusive with my brother, to letting him fuck as far inside me as any man can. 

The sound of the shower head crashing against the tile, snaps us out of this pregnant pause. It swings, spraying hot water everywhere as my brother slams me hard against the wall. Jaime’s hands are under my thighs, lifting and parting them, pressing his cock between us. I pump my hips to slide my slippery slit against the underside of his shaft. We both moan at the sensation and before I can do it again, he lifts me high enough for the head of his cock to line up with my pussy. 

There is no chance to think, no time to contemplate or decide. He impales me and we both cry out at how whole we finally feel. Nothing will ever compare to this and we both know it. I squeeze him in my legs, every part of me arching and clenching and fighting for more. He freezes, standing stock still as I writhe around him. His eyes meet mine and narrow, silently telling me that I’m not the one in control here. 

Well, no shit Sherlock. 

I’ve lost all control of everything and I’m completely at his mercy. For the sake of my pride, I pray it’s only a temporary situation--until my clit throbs and I start praying it isn’t. If he wants to prolong this particular state of affairs, I’m game. So long as we both get what we need in the end. “ _ Jaime _ ,” I pant, begging him to move, to give me the friction I need. The  _ fucking  _ I need. 

His nostrils flare and I feel his whole body tremble as he starts to move. The slow slide of his cock dragging back out of me, has me lifting my hips to chase his, wordlessly begging it to return, when all of a sudden, he slams back into me. Goosebumps spread over my flesh and pucker my tits as I gasp around the assault. There’s a dull pain low in my belly that I’ve never felt before. It’s deep inside where only a man--a real man--can touch a woman.

He must know what he’s done, because he leans in and covers my mouth with his. The kiss is not the apology I was expecting, but instead, instruction. He’s telling me to take it. To swallow this pain, just like he has to swallow back the pain of my betrayal. I know at any moment I can push him off me and storm out. I do not have to submit to this. I also know that I want to. 

So, I let him. 

I let him fuck me so hard it hurts. Until it doesn’t anymore. My body seems to welcome him home with open arms and my pussy’s a goddamned rain forest for it. The heavy slap of his body crashing into mine comes immediately after the loud smack of my ass in the shower wall behind me. This time there is no music to distract from the moment or muffle the primal sound of him claiming every square inch of me. It’s obscene and leaves no room for question.

I shiver involuntarily each time his pelvis grinds against my clit and for as hard as I claw his back, his grip tightens on my thighs. We’re both victims of our own need for each other--no one’s in control anymore. I don’t tell him to go faster or harder, he just does. He knows exactly what I need before I do, because he needs it too. 

Everything inside myself catches and builds until the bubble bursts and my orgasm surges through me. I can feel it everywhere, from the pointed tips of my toes to the roots of my hair. I don’t mean to sound dramatic here--but this is as close to an out of body experience as I’ve ever had. My body moves of its own volition, bucking wildly on Jaime’s cock. My brain has been shoved aside, left to helplessly sit back and watch my pussy milk him like my very life depends on his joining my orgasmic bliss. 

It’s not long before he does. Unlike my frantic repetition, Jaime comes on a powerful roar in one glorious thrust that bruises my cervix. Then he stills. His forehead presses to mine as he twitches and throbs his release. I take it all because I need every bit of him inside me, and frown when I feel his cum--with nowhere to go in such close quarters--seeping down his shaft and out of me. 

It’s then that I realize we never used a condom. 

Fuck. 

Shit.

Fuck. 

Jaime lifts his head to look into my eyes and I hold my breath. I don’t know what to do now. He just fucked me stupid and I’m nothing but jellified post-coital goo, with just barely enough sense left to worry about the cum shot I just took in a place I never should have. Is he freaking out too? Then, his eyes close and he presses a tender kiss to my lips. It quells the panic that had been rising in my throat and I fall into it as he pulls himself free from me. Instead of feeling empty, I’m oddly alright.

It’s because he’s still kissing me--not letting me go, not completely.

His fingers thread through mine before he pulls away from me to reach for the shower head. The spray is warm and soothing against our stimulated flesh and I stand still, letting him rinse me clean. That’s twice now that my brother has bathed me, though this time is so much more gentle than before. A lot has changed in such a short time. While hearts have not healed, they now know how to. 

“Come on.” He clears his throat to try to find his own sound again. “Come to bed.” 

I nod and dry myself with the towel he hands me, which is hard to do one-handed. He won’t let my other hand go. It’s as if he’s afraid I’ll run away after what we’ve done. I let him lead me to the bed to prove that I won’t and relish the careful way he tucks me in, cuddling me to him. He pecks a kiss to the top of my head before he whispers, “We’ll send for your things in the morning.” 

I’m silenced by the weight of such commitment, willing myself to relax in his arms. This is uncharted territory--something we’ve not only never done, but never in a million years even considered. What was never a possibility is now the only way my brother will have me.

As he begins to fall asleep, his arm around me grows heavy. When I attempt to move out from under the weight of it, he startles just enough to tighten his grip. “Stop running,” he purrs into my ear and it’s then that I realize that’s exactly what I’ve been doing my whole life. Every time I screw my brother, I’m running from my father, and every time I push Jaime away, I’m running from my lover. When I’m on stage, I’m running away from the loneliness of being the only woman in this man’s world and when I’m writing songs, I’m running from the fame that surrounds me. And all throughout, I make sure I look like the baddest bitch you’ve ever met while I do.

The truth is that I am not comfortable anywhere--not even here. But, I’m even less comfortable being away, so that has to mean something, right? There might not be any place for me in this life, but if there is, this has to be it.

My eyes start watering at how broken as a person, I’ve just discovered I truly am. This is too soft. This is not me. I get angry, and I get even. What I don’t get, is this fucking retrospective and emotional. Forcing a smile that I don’t feel and he can’t see anyway, I speak into the darkness, “Make me.” 

His chest presses against my back on a deep sigh and I wonder if he’s tired of me--or just tired. He doesn’t say anything at first and it’s getting to me. Will he allow me the false bravado I need? Or will he abuse the upper hand I gave him tonight?

Slowly, he leans back and the feeling of him separating himself from me is a terrible one. I start regretting that I said anything. When his sound system at the foot of the bed lights up, I know he was reaching for the remote to turn it on. Perhaps he plans to silence me with music because it’s easier than having to talk to me while his wounds heal. Jackass. 

The opening melody has me closing my eyes and silently cursing. 

Jaime’s smooth voice sounds through the speakers,  _ They warned me about you. Said, don’t stand too close to that one.  _

Of course he would pick this song. I had doubted whether or not ‘Send Me to Hell’ was intentional when I first got here, but there’s no room for doubt with this one. Jaime knows exactly what he was doing by putting this particular song on. 

_ She’s hot like the sun,  _

_ One look from her will burn. _

_ But I don’t care.  _

He’s using my earlier tactic against me--talking to me in a language only we are both fluent in. Our music. Jaime’s using our songs to spell it out for me. 

_ Your only defense is your light.  _

_ Too bright.  _

_ But I don’t care. _

The song is titled, ‘Don’t Care.’ Producers originally thought it was going to be a breakup song because we haven’t put one of those out. Writing about dumping or getting dumped isn’t really our strong suit, as neither of us has ever actually been through the dissolution of a relationship. Which pissed off father and the other backers because every great band has a song for everything--love, lust, rebellion, and heartache. 

Needless to say, they were a touch upset when they realized that ‘Don’t Care’ was not about the singer freeing himself from a shit relationship and moving on, but instead about his not giving a single solitary shit what everyone thought about the girl he was hung up on--me. 

_ Open your eyes, Sunshine. _

_ And look in mine. Blind me baby. _

_ I may be a fool, but I don’t care. _

I take a deep breath and let the lyrics sink in. I don’t believe in time travel or fate or any other mysterious power out there in the universe--although, perhaps I should be hedging my bets a bit to be safe. But, it seems as though this song that I remember us writing together on the back of a tour bus a couple years ago, was made for this exact moment. Neither of us could have possibly known how things would have gone.

_ I don’t need sight.  _

_ Not as long as you let me walk with you.  _

His hand moves to my hair, gathering it up and brushing it aside to expose the back of my neck. I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering what he’ll do next, not wanting to move a muscle and somehow change his mind. 

He presses a soft kiss at the top of my spine and whispers, “I’m trying.” 

It is at that exact moment that I know my next tattoo will be his lips on that spot. I want to remember this moment forever. I want everyone to see what love is and see that I have it, even if I’m not entirely sure what to do with it. Jaime has always embraced his feelings. That’s why he can forgive me and why he can make such demands and promises. 

This is how my big-headed lead singer brother, can not care what everyone thinks.

  
  



	7. Daddy's Disgrace

Living up to Jaime’s demands is surprisingly easy at the moment. We’re still on the same tour we’ve been on, and it’s been about six weeks since my Robbie-slip. Keep in mind that I say ‘we’ even though Jaime isn’t a part of this tour, because he’s tagged along as if he is anyway. He never wanted me out of his sight before, but now even more because I’ve given him reason. 

It was convenient that the night Jaime took me back--as if we ever split in the first place, like we ever could--the tour had been moving through our own city. I let him hire some movers to pack my shit up and send it over to his place. His satisfied grin over his bowl of cereal the next morning lead to a bit of oral while he slurped his milk down. I couldn’t resist. I had to drop to my knees and give a little suck, just to remind him how good I can make him feel and how pleased I was with him from the night before. I also wanted to prove that Robbie was nothing more than a distant memory, and a shitty one at that. 

The sound of the ceramic bowl thumping on the table, the metal spoon clanking against it as Jaime groaned my name was just what I needed to know that we are most certainly on the same page again. His hand came to the side of my face as I bobbed and sucked, his voice soft as he cooed, “So good, Cers. Fuck. Take it, Sunshine. It’s all yours. Every last drop.” 

My eager smile broke the suction and he was so close when he looked down at me, that he was absolutely shaking at the loss of my lips. His hand moved from my cheek and fisted in my hair, pulling me back against him, needing the return of my mouth as much as he needed air to breathe. My nose smashed against his pubic bone and my gag reflex set off, making me wretch as he coughed victoriously with one final thrust. Hot streams of cum burned against my tonsils and threatened to go up my nose. What a sight that would have been--jizz dripping from my nostrils like snot. Fuck. The things I let that man do to me. 

I’ll never forget how he treated me after. Slowly, Jaime pulled me from his cock and stared into my watering eyes. When I reached up to wipe at the spit that had drooled its way out in all the commotion of face-fucking, he batted my hands away, only to pull his tshirt up over his head and dab at the corners of my mouth with it. I closed my eyes as he wiped the tears away, his voice gentle as he praised, “Such a good girl, taking it nice and deep for me.” 

I swallowed over the sore lump in my throat before correcting him, “No. I took it ‘nice and deep’ for you, because I’m a very bad girl.” 

I turned out of his grasp then, seeing his eyes heat and knowing I needed to deny him another round. I was so fucking relieved that he relented after Robbie, that he wasn’t going to make it difficult for me, make me chase him. I gave into everything he wanted and let him take control. But Jaime in control? No, that wasn’t true to us. Not all the time, anyway. I couldn’t let him think I was going to turn into some guilty spineless woman for him to _manage_. 

No one rules over me. 

Not my father with all his money and power.

Not my twin with his cock. 

I acted disinterested and busy as I readied myself for the day. Jaime licked his lips as he watched me take over his bathroom with all my shit. I don’t know if he was more turned on by my hot and cold demeanor or if it was all my products appearing in his space. He’s so territorial that seeing my lipstick on his marble countertop might actually give him a semi… 

Regardless, my look of complete and utter apathy served as a silent reminder that we don’t fuck unless I want. And believe me, there are a lot of things I want. 

I want him inside me, crying my name out. I want him desperate for me, losing his cool and taking without asking. Jaime doesn’t own me, no one does, but giving him the reins in small doses is a relief. I don’t always have to be the badass that faces off with the world when I let him assume some amount of power in our relationship. It’s not much, nothing really substantial, and almost immediately afterward, I feel like I have to knock him down a peg to prove that it’s not a new dynamic I’m looking to institute on the regular. 

It’s very bipolar, I know. At least, that’s what a therapist told me ages ago. I stopped going when I realized that rat-faced bastard was spilling all my secrets to father, who hadn’t confronted me about them, only because it had not yet suited him to. I knew the time would come when it would, and I’d be faced with a master manipulator with loads of ammunition. 

Fuck that noise.

So, I stopped going and accepted that I’m a labile mess who has to fight for everything she has, even brief moments of serenity at the end of my brother’s cock. Luckily, Jaime’s used to me flip-flopping between ‘I’m in control’ and ‘I could use the break, why don’t you take over for the next couple hours?’ It’s a dance he knows all the steps to and he never seems to tire of. 

Teasing him resulted in quite the deep dicking in a truck stop bathroom some ten hours later. I had casually brushed my ass past his groin as I moved around the tour bus until he finally lost it and followed me into the bathroom, closing the heavy metal door behind us. The sound of the lock would have been much more foreboding if I hadn’t been looking forward to the way he bent me over the grimy sink. He was so fast and forceful that I had to clutch the dingy towel dispenser for leverage as he pounded my pussy, wet and aching for the abuse. 

I wanted it because I always feel my best when I’m stretched around his cock, letting the cool air tickle between my naked thighs. He wanted it because we’d been stuck on tour buses all day traveling with the rest of the band--and Robbie. 

Jaime is smart enough not to cause a scene, so he wasn’t about to call him out right then and there, but was definitely going to stake his claim good and hard. 

Delightfully so.

As much as I appreciate his vigor, being stuck in the close confines of a goddamn tour, makes following Jaime’s No-Robbie Rule tricky.

Robbie’s usually nearby, eyeing me like he still thinks he has a chance in my pants. His flirty eyes used to get my attention, now they just disgust me. He looks genuinely confused and annoyed whenever he happens to notice all the shade I throw his way. Any concern I might have felt for his feelings evaporates when I see him nursing his wounded ego on different _dollies_ along the road. What a fucking tool.

I shouldn’t care. It’s not like I want him, it’s just that I don’t take kindly to being so easily recovered from. 

_Stop it_ , I tell myself and rub the back of my neck. The raised flesh still healing in the shape of a forbidden kiss reminds me that there is someone out there who can’t even get it up without me. Robbie can fuck anything with a pulse because he’s never truly felt the beating of another’s heart in the palm of his hand. 

That’s where Jaime and I live--in each other’s grasp. 

Even if we aren’t actually living together, yet. I can get away with it because of the tour and because all my shit is there even if I’m not. Fortunately, each night we can’t get away with sneaking into each other’s bed, he keeps his pouting to a minimum in consideration of our circumstances. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t find ways of making sure I’m not betraying him again. Jaime’s always the last to go to bed and the first to wake up, ensuring I retire to my bunk alone--if not with him--where I will then double click my mouse to my heart’s content. What can I say? His constant insecurity is the best lubrication I’ve ever used. 

Big bad Jaime Lannister, lead singer to Rampant, Golden God of Rock himself reduced to playing chaperone every night on someone else’s tour. Fuck, just thinking about it has me tingling in my lingerie. 

Unfortunately, Robbie’s primitive need to boink has him picking up on the “screw my brains out” vibes I keep aiming at Jaime and stupidly thinks that when I’m not rejecting him, I might actually still want him. As if I’d run so hot and cold--with Robbie of all people. No. I’m pretty consistent in my hating him and lusting after Jaime. I want to scream, “Wrong dick, asshole!” But I don’t because we still have six more venues before this tour ends and I’m a professional. 

The man is like Herpes, he just won’t go away. It’s a good thing that I’ve stocked up on valtrex in the form of the ‘not fuckin’ interested, fucker’ glares I’ve been giving him. Just a couple of days ago, he pinned me against the kitchenette, breathing booze in my face as he asked, “You’re not still mad about what happened back in King’s Landing, are you?” 

“I’d have to actually care in the first place in order to get mad over it,” I hissed back, glancing to either side of me. I didn’t want Jaime to see the situation and misinterpret it. 

Robbie chuckled and ground the bulge in his pants against me. A million women in the world wish they could be me at this moment, except of course, for me. “Come on, Cersei. I know you want another ride on this rodeo. I’m not scared of your cock-blocking brother.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” 

All too ready to lean further into me, he hovered his lips an inch away from my ear. I stood my ground, refusing to cringe. Naturally, he took advantage of his new position and ran his tongue over my cheek. I think it was meant to be seductive, but it obviously had the opposite effect.

“He guards you like he’s your keeper, but you’re not a woman to be kept, and I’m not a man to be denied.” 

How fucking true that statement was. 

It’s too bad for him that I’m a cut above the rest of the bitches he’s used to dealing with. I turned my head away from his lips and laughed. “Too bad my name’s not _Lyanna_.” 

He stilled, the color draining from his face as if I’d just brought up a ghost. It lasted all of five seconds before a wave of red hate invaded his features and he pushed off me. “Fucking fridged bitch.” 

“Is there a problem here?” 

Robbie’s jaw tightened at the sound of Jaime’s voice. “No,” he grunted before turning and storming off. 

Jaime gave me a curious look and I shrugged. “Rejection’s hard.” 

“Is that so?” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning his approval. 

And that was that. 

In the past few days, Robbie has finally kept to his side of the tour to pout from a distance and we stay to ours. I steer clear of him other than performances where I pour on the sugar for the cameras as expected. Jaime watches from behind the curtain, making sure my acting isn’t too academy award worthy. 

I want to say that it’s been hard to be watched so closely, but it hasn’t. I mean, we already know I’m wired wrong, so it really shouldn’t be a surprise to learn that it’s actually thrilling to have my brother guarding my pussy from all other cocks. Each time he ‘plays keeper’ as Robbie puts it, lightning crackles through me and I want to jerk him off just to lick the cum from my hand. 

Points for oversharing--I know.

Regardless, this is how I’ve managed to balance my personal and professional life. I let Robbie think I’m still raw about his slip of the tongue and let Jaime know I’m not interested in looking for greener pastures by going to bed alone each night. Somewhere in it all, I wink and blow kisses at a million fans so they keep buying our albums and scribble more lyrics down in my notebook because inspiration is everywhere. 

It’s in the gentle way Jaime runs his fingers through my hair. 

In the scorned glare Robbie fires at me. 

The starstruck roadies who tune my bass and ask--rather hopefully--if it’s to my liking. 

My father’s cold orders, devoid of any sentiment. 

The fact that only Jaime and I can seem to survive it all as long as we’re together. 

That’s where the music comes from. All of it.

It’s where ‘Daddy’s Disgrace’ originated from, the song playing through my head as I join my father for dinner. There are so many secrets kept both from and by him, that as I approach his table, the opening lines come to mind, _If I tell you somethin’ private baby, would you keep it all hush-hush? Or would you run around the town all night, spreadin’ my secret life?_

Only if publicizing it paid well.

Shit. Maybe I should. I’d make my own cash for a change. I’ve crossed the dreaded incest line enough times that I’m practically playing hopscotch over it. I wonder how much Margaery would pay to have me on her show.

Father would clean the whole thing up anyway. I honestly don’t know why we work so hard to hide it from him. I’m sure the old man would overlook a ‘slip’ for the sake of his empire. He’d probably cite booze, drugs, exhaustion, unchecked libedos and poor lighting on cramped tour buses as the cause--certainly not that we actually desire each other. He would use whatever excuse he could cook up to explain away his twins taking a trip to hump town in order to keep the money flowing. 

Discovering that we’ve moved in together--sort of, and are exclusive would be much harder to explain away, but I’m certain he’d find a way. Heaven forbid my father suffer anything inconvenient, though. 

Ugh, I had thought about ignoring his request to meet just to get out of the awkward encounter all together. Turning down an invitation from him, however, only results in more headaches later. 

_I can smile real pretty, make it look real good._

_But you’re foolish for thinkin’_

_Just what I want you to._

If only that were true across the board for the old man. Surprised to find that Jaime is not in attendance, I ask casually, “Where’s Jaime?” Father enjoys private meetings with Jaime, but never bothers with me--letting me know just how contingent upon a man my career really is. That fucker. 

He cuts his steak, offering me nothing in response. I receive absolutely no acknowledgement, not even in the form of a disapproving groan. He lets me know that his steak means more to him than I do by denying me even cordial eye contact. 

I want to slap his glass of wine off the table and laugh as it stains his dress shirt. It’s a bratty move but at least he would have to see me--even if only to glare. I stifle the huff I want to breathe because I’ve come a long way. He will only ever view my feelings as a mark of immaturity, which is why it’s best to keep things business related--it’s the only language he’s fluent in. 

A couple of ticks of silence pass between us before he deigns to explain why he requested my presence. “Robbie B’s management is threatening to pull out of the tour.”

I bark a laugh. “Bullshit.”

Father lifts his fork to his lips and doesn’t hesitate to take a bite, feeling no need to respond. 

“Bullshit,” I repeat, because it is. “Robbie wouldn’t pull out so close to the finish.” I know--more than most--that he’s a closer. He won’t quit until the job’s done and you can’t ever take it back or pretend it didn’t happen... “We’re in the homestretch,” I add, pulling myself from the horrible memory of our mistake. 

We have six stops left. Six. That’s it. There is no way this is happening. Robbie’s a dink, but he can’t be this stupid. The amount of money this will cost us is absurd, and inexcusable. 

Father reaches for his wine as he chews. He swallows the bite down before bringing the glass to his lips for a small sip. As soon as he takes a sip, he grimaces and sets his drink off to the side of the table. I watch as he throws his napkin on top of the two hundred dollar cut of beef he had been thoroughly enjoying up until that very moment. “He is,” he confirms as he snaps his fingers. “And he’s naming you as the primary reason.”

“Me?” If Robbie went mental and decided he didn’t need buckets of cash, that had fuck-all to do with me.

“Is something the matter, sir?” A squirrely looking waiter appears by father’s glass. He’s frowning at the plate with the napkin. 

My father gestures at his food. “Your pairing.” 

The waiter looks crestfallen, like he’s about to cry. He probably is. This will cost him his job. I eye his lapel for a name, only to remember that if this is the sort of place that will sack a guy for costing them a two hundred dollar steak dinner, then it’s also the sort of place that’s too good for nametags. 

“What’s your name?” I ask because I’m curious. 

He glances over at me, sweat lining his brow. “Pod.”

“Pod?”

Father sighs and flicks his gaze up to me to let me know that this small diversion is only pissing him off more. It’s not my intention to make things worse for the help, but it does feel good to be noticed. 

“Podrick,” the man elaborates. 

I shrug my shoulders as I stare back at father and say, “Well, Podrick, try not to take it too hard. My father is rarely ever pleased. So many things are _beneath_ him. I’m sure your pairing was perfectly fine for most diners.”

Choosing to play along for the briefest of moments, father’s jaw ticks before he says, “I pay for excellence--not _‘fine_.’”

“Yes, sir.” Podrick’s voice has gone hollow and I’m forced to remind myself that I don’t care what happens to this man. 

Batting another pawn away, I say, “You may leave us now.” 

Father leans back in his chair as if he is finally going to give me his undivided attention, but I know better. This moment will be short, most usually are with him. Taking my rare opportunity to talk with him as if we are equals, I ask, “I’m sure you had something written in his contract to prevent this very scenario?”

He raises a brow at me as if to say, _Duh_. He doesn’t actually voice that sentiment, however, as it would be too common for his tastes. 

I jab my finger at the table for emphasis. “Even if you don’t want to pursue legal action,” because I know he doesn’t. “His manager doesn’t know that. Threaten it. Make Jon rein him in.”

Father’s lips thin and I know I’ve touched a nerve. He’s always had a bit of a rivalry with Jon Arryn’s management company, not that he’d ever admit it. ‘ _A lion doesn’t concern himself with the opinions of sheep,_ ’ he said once when Tyrion dared to point out the obvious between them. 

So fucking proud. 

So fucking blind and proud. 

“ _Jon_ ,” he rumbles from across the table. “Lacks the ability to control his clients. Just like any other piss-poor manager.”

If the iron grip he has on Jaime and I is any indicator of good management skills, he must be the greatest of all time. 

“I won’t bring lawyers into a situation my daughter can handle.” 

_Look at me. Really, look._

_I’m Daddy’s Disgrace!_

_All the gloss in the world won’t fix my face_

_For the shame I bring._

Oh, so it’s ‘my daughter’ now, is it? I cross my arms over my chest to say as much. “And how would you have me handle it? With a wink and a smile?”

“Would that be too much to ask?” A voice says by my elbow.

I try not to startle at my brother’s arrival. It was only a matter of time before he showed up. As I said, father can’t abide too much time spent with me alone. A nanny once said it was because I reminded him of mother, and it comforted me for a short while. Unfortunately, when I caught him fucking that same sweet nanny in our playroom, I knew her words were just a beautiful lie. 

Tyrion joins us at the table, and pulls a cigar out of his pocket. I want to tell him that they won’t let him smoke in here because I’d enjoy denying him even the simplest of pleasures, but I know they will make an exception for Tywin Lannister’s son. No matter how horrid he is. 

“It would,” I respond, trying to find the thread of our conversation before I was overwhelmed with disgust by his presence. 

Unfazed, Tyrion points out. “You two seemed quite cozy when you blew through town.”

“That was before.” I dislike this little two against one. 

Now I definitely want to know where Jaime is. Does he know what they are up to? He’s always stayed quiet in these family meetings, tiptoeing the line between being my protector and pleasing father. Things are different now, I bet he’d go head to head if I needed him to. Can father somehow sense this change in him--in us? It would explain why he hasn’t been invited. 

“Before?” Tyrion asks for father who is only looking more and more restless and ready to leave. 

Needing to be crass, to put them off, to keep father looking at me, I sneer. “Before I fucked him senseless.” 

_Hold on tight baby_

_Cause I’ve got a hunger_

_For what’s tucked behind your zipper_

Not missing a beat, Tyrion goads me, “What, and you don’t do repeats or something?”

“Fuck off.” 

“It’s a lot of money.”

Father rises from his seat, clearly having enough with this banter. I think he’s going to leave, but he doesn’t. Not before offering a finishing blow, “Since that’s a road you’ve already traveled, it shouldn’t be problematic for you to find your way over it again.”

“Or under it,” Tyrion cracks. 

I clench my jaw to hold in the gasp I won’t allow myself to utter. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Did father really just say to me what I think he did? I blink a few times to clear my eyes as I glance over at Tyrion. The smirk falls from his face as he recognizes just how wounded I am--how any daughter would be. While he doesn’t look quite as shocked and disgusted as I feel, he has definitely retreated. Apparently, even the little monster has morals, somewhere deep down inside his disfigured self. 

Rage ripples through me as I ground out, “You would _whore_ your daughter out for some fast cash?” 

Not taking the bait, father tosses a few hundreds down on the table--though, it’s probably too late to save poor Pod’s ass. Father wouldn’t be caught dead not paying a bill. _‘A Lannister always pays his debts,’_ is something my father has drilled into all of our heads since we first started climbing out of our cribs. Of course he would care more about his reputation than his own child. Tywin Lannister is a horrible human being--worse than Robbie B could ever dream of being. 

He turns to leave and I give into my desperate need to strike him again. I reach for his pride because I know it’s the only thing that stands a chance of smarting. “Have we fallen so far?” 

Father pauses and Tyrion looks at me with legitimate fear in his eyes. He’s an asskisser, through and through because he knows what getting on father’s bad side could mean. His lips purse in a silent plea for me to just shut up and leave father alone already. Too bad I don’t give a shit about the consequences. Not after my father told me to whore myself out. Not anymore. 

“Cersei,” father says, his voice hard. Good. Feel something you piece of shit. He won’t turn around, won’t look at me. That’s fine. I’ve still gotten to him. Or at least, I think I might have. That is until he says, “You speak as though you’ve ever truly risen. You haven’t. Because, you’ve never wanted it bad enough.”

_Cause look at me_

_I’m Daddy’s Disgrace_

_Doin’ whoever I want and takin’ whatever I need._

My stomach turns and I feel like I’ve just been slapped across the face. My cheeks burn in shame and embarrassment of my own lyrics. They had been a secret rebellion, not a script for my father to follow. Not for him to think I’m a slut and treat me like one. 

What an asshole! That prick. He’s the absent father who’s emotionally unavailable. How deficient does someone have to be to expect his daughter to spread her legs for whoever he tells her to? 

Why in the hell am I the one sitting here feeling so completely and utterly less-than? As if it’s my fault all because I’m a proud member of the vagina club...

I barely hear him add, as if he can read my mind, “You think we don’t treat you fairly because you’re female. It’s not that. Only, that as a woman, you have different tools at your disposal, and you don’t use them. If you hungered for greatness the way the rest of us do, you would use everything you have and let nothing stop you.”

Like love? Like common decency? Yeah, he’s right. I wouldn’t let those things stop me. I would sell my family out to get fucked one way or another and not bat an eyelash. Oh, to be Tywin Lannister, falling asleep every night on piles of cash earned off the backs of his children. My anatomy is not a _tool_. 

Fuck this. 

Fuck feeling this way. 

He buttons his blazer and before he makes to leave, I force myself to laugh obnoxiously. Tyrion looks like he wants to sink under the table and hide. Let him. Maybe he’ll find his tiny balls under there. “What can I say, _Daddy_? His dick disappointed,” I practically shout at my father’s back. 

And then he walks away. He doesn’t bother with a response this time, no sigh or look of disgust, or even disappointment. He’s not any of those things, except finished. Finished with the scene I’m making, and with the fact that I won’t just fix this problem for everyone. 

“Well, that was reckless.”

“Why are you here?” I ask and then slice my eyes over to Tyrion. “Oh, wait. I don’t care.”

He takes a puff of his cigar and no one comes to stop him. “I’m here for contingency planning. And you’ve just royally pissed off the one person who holds your entire future in the palm of his hand. I’ll say it again--reckless.”

I scoff. “Father doesn’t get pissed off. Only further unaffected.”

“That’s why he left early?”

He’s on his own time, always has been. Tywin Lannister is never early or late, as nothing ever starts or stops without him. I’m about to say so when I catch sight of Jaime out of the corner of my eye and I stand to meet him. 

His smile is cocksure with a hint of suspicion. “Family reunion someone forgot to tell me about?” He’s right to question. Nodding his head at the empty place setting that could have only been for father, he asks, “Where’s daddy-o?” 

“You just missed him,” I say, trying to hide my emotions. Jaime always knows something’s up when I’m too quiet, and make no mistake, something is definitely up. 

His hand reaches for mine, not caring that Tyrion is right there watching. We’ve always come across as overly affectionate in our twin bond. Hand holding is not so inappropriate. Jaime’s smooth in his movements, his voice velvet, caressing me--coaxing me, as he asks, “And what were we discussing?”

Tyrion stands up, though you’d hardly notice the difference. He takes another puff of his cigar before admitting, “Robbie B is pulling out of the tour.” 

“Good riddance,” Jaime huffs a laugh, as if there are no consequences to face. “Why do we care? I’ll just step in and save the last six dates.” 

I turn to walk away, definitely not wanting this conversation to go any further. To my surprise, Tyrion walks alongside us, two steps for every one of ours--I consider speeding up. “Our sister,” he says from down below, making me loathe our familial connection. “Refuses to take another trip to _boomtown_ with Robbie.”

Jaime’s smile turns venomous, flashing his fang. He pins our little brother with a glare, his tone is a warning one as he says, “So what? Her body, her choice. Right?” 

I stop dead and my heart aches with it’s sudden swell in my chest. Jaime tolerates the little monster better than most, so it fills me with pride to see him turn on even him. I suffocate that feeling to remind myself that he has an ulterior motive for defending me. Jaime’s primary focus is on keeping me all to himself. 

“Choose money,” Tyrion growls. 

Jaime’s dropped all pretense and is ready to roar. Tyrion starts talking fast, “I mean, what’s one more shitty lay in a slew of them when millions are at stake?”

Except that I haven’t had ‘a slew’ of them. It’s all always been a game of pretend, and it’s strange to see how I’ve been able to fool even my own family with my flirty stage presence. Jaime looks fit to murder and I can’t quite tell why. Is it because of what Tyrion’s suggesting I do, or is it the memory of what I actually did?

“Shut up. You don’t understand. It was unwanted,” I hiss. 

Then I glance at Jaime, who almost seems to relax at my assurance, and to Tyrion, whose eyes are alight with some sort of fucked up excitement. He resembles golem as he asks, “Are you insinuating rape?”

No. Just regret--about half way through. “Don’t look so excited.”

Jaime’s grip on me tightens and I begin to think I may have given him the wrong impression. Jaime knew I went to Robbie willingly, and he knew I had buyer’s remorse, but saying it like this now--it’s entirely possible he’s starting to think Robbie forced himself on me. 

I give a subtle shake of my head at Jaime, silently telling him that it was not a matter of force or rape. His fingers loosen only slightly, his grip still firm and protective, as if he could snatch me away from any danger that lurks. 

“There it is!” Tyrion exclaims as if he’s solved every difficult puzzle ever invented. 

“There what is?”

Wasting no time to hatch his PR plan, Tyrion says, “We could Me-Too the fuck out of this!” 

The Me-Too movement. I’ve never heard it used as a verb like that, as if it’s nothing more than an actionable strategy to be employed. Leave it to a man--however tiny--to cheapen something like that. To view rape as a gimmick. “Have you no shame?” 

It’s surprising how fierce his little growl sounds as he says, “Not when I’m pulling you out of the shit.” 

Jaime’s eyes soften and he knows that this is all being thrust upon me. Meeting his demands are costly--both financially, and with our family. It’s clear he feels some degree of guilt for putting me in this position. I should tell him that I probably would have declined to fuck Robbie even if Jaime hadn’t cared, simply because I do. Except that his feeling bad will eventually lead to me gaining something. I haven’t figured out what yet, and it’s not like he’s bleeding out on a cross somewhere with all his suffering, so don’t look at me like that. 

“It would start a war,” I argue, my insides twisting and turning. 

It would. Robbie won’t take this lying down and Jon Arryn would never settle out of court, never let it appear as though his star talent is a sexual predator. If father decides to take this route, he won’t back down either. In today’s society, crying wolf is just as bad. I would be branded a career-ruining whore. Father couldn’t risk that, so he would go after Robbie and Jon with both barrels. And we wouldn’t win--not since it actually was, sadly, consensual. There is absolutely no evidence of rape. 

I feel bile crawl up the back of my throat at Jaime’s sick chuckle. “The war for Cersei’s cunt.”

Tyrion cracks a smile and while I know Jaime’s sarcastic and bitter, Tyrion is hopeful that this little scheme is his perfect plan B for me not putting out. The room feels so uneven right now and it’s a struggle just to swallow back all the excess saliva pooling in my mouth. 

I stagger back a step, out of Jaime’s hold. His brows furrow in concern. “Are you okay?”

He sounds underwater and I’m definitely drowning. Funny, I don’t recall swimming. I suddenly can taste the acid burn of the screwdriver I had for breakfast and know immediately that I need a bathroom STAT.


	8. Forever and Yesterday

_ We were like royalty. _

_ Making forever choices,  _

_ Impulsive-ly. _

Despite singing not being her main talent, her voice can command an audience with its beauty. As a vocalist, myself, I know that when you have a mic in your hands, it’s part skill and part nature. You either have it or you don’t, and Cersei has it--that something extra. She has always been quite determined to improve upon her skill too, and if I were a betting man, I’d say she’s put much more practice in with her vocal coach than she’d like anyone to know.

Yes, I’m a bit of a shit for pointing it out--I’m aware. Oh well, we’ll just add this little secret of hers to the pile we keep. This album is so important to her, that I would do anything to help her succeed, even if it means biting my tongue and taking a step back so she can shine. 

Okay, that’s a bit of a lie.

I definitely didn’t keep my mouth shut with our father. I was quite outspoken when I used my “cock-fluence” as she puts it, to make him see that a stripped down acoustic release with female vocals could still yield profits. I figured why not make the sexism work in our favor for a change? It’s not like it’s ever going to go away. Father’s so set in his ways, that he’s become quite predictable and I have always found while sparring, it’s not necessarily a bad thing to know your opponent's moves. 

I know the world is not one big boxing ring, but sometimes it feels close enough. When I put things in those terms, it’s all so much more manageable. Boxing with my personal trainer keeps me fit for the stage and it clears the crazy from my head. It’s the one place that evens everything out. It doesn’t matter if you’re a Lannister or a lowlife, when you step in that ring, you touch gloves and let your instincts take over. 

Turns out, I’ve got good instincts.

Which thank fuck for that, because I wasn’t exactly born a mensa-kid. I’m not calling myself stupid, just being realistic. My brother got the genius IQ and Cersei does not lack for wits, either--even if she has no judgement, and no patience. I’m not saying this to put her down, because she’s not one to keep down. She’s so much better than the rest of us, and for all the things she’s not--well, I guess you could say I need her ugly just as much as I need the rest. 

She is a creature ruled purely by her emotions. Where father is as relentless and implacable as a glacier, Cersei is all wildfire--especially when she’s pissed. 

_ We fought a war together. _

_ Walked shoulder to shoulder, _

_ Right to the killing zone.  _

_ Yesterday gone forever, _

_ But for what you and I remember. _

Father thought those lines were particularly melodramatic. He let it go, however, when I reminded him that it was a ballad so that was kind of the point. Father simply didn’t understand the lyrics, and he hates not knowing things. Tyrion, on the other hand, caught on to the inside joke. He knew it was in reference to the darker days in Cersei’s--and my--life when that fat fuck Robbie B and our father were bargaining with her snatch as if she were any other callgirl picked up on the corner of Kingsroad and River Road after hours.

It was enough to make our blood boil--her and I.

We feel everything together. Even when we don’t see eye to eye, we feel for each other. She doesn’t like to admit it, viewing any connection--even ours--as a weakness. I’m confident and comfortable enough in my own skin to admit that feeling with someone else only betters the human condition we’re all afflicted with. 

Most people are born alone and die alone. Sometimes, they get to share the time in between with someone else. I’m not like most people, as I have never once truly been alone--and I’m not about to start. Sharing my life and my heart with a woman is the only way I function, so there’s really no limit--don’t tell Cersei this--to the shit I’d do to keep up my way of life. Call me motivated, but I don’t know any other way and I refuse to ever learn one. 

Cersei leans into the mic and her hair falls over her shoulder. Each strand glows under the studio lights and I want to tuck it back behind her ear as an excuse to touch her. Though if I did that, I could expect to get smacked. She would act like she’s too focused on the music and what she’s trying to produce to be bothered with my affection, but I know better. This isn’t about focus, or worrying about witnesses to our affection.

Cersei isn’t one to share the spotlight. 

She says that I hog it. 

That’s alright, she can say that because it’s true. I most certainly, one hundred percent do. How else do you think I’ve managed to hold her attention after all these years? 

How I’ve kept her? 

You see, outside of just needing her to function, I’ve actually been in love with her for as long as I can remember. She’s my best friend, my strongest competition, and the only other person that could ever possibly relate to being born to the great Tywin Lannister. I mean, Tyrion can, on some things, but his tits aren’t nearly as impressive. 

Sorry, that was crass, wasn’t it?

Her and I are similar in that way too, always cutting right to the heart of things, no matter how brutal or crude it may sound. Fuck the pomp and circumstance of life, the ettiquet and expectation of it all. It’s polite society that would lynch us if they ever found out how many times I’ve hidden my salami in her meat locker. It's quite a waste of a life to be so goddamn  _ polite _ . And trust me, I intend to live life to the fullest because as of right now, I am alive and drunk on sunlight. 

Maybe we are hooked up wrong for wanting each other, but it’s not like some God is going to reach down and fix his mistake. I mean he’d have to admit his error in the first place, and judging by my limited knowledge of people who act like they’re gods (cough,  _ father _ ), one would never admit fault. 

So here we are, Cersei and I, completely mental for each other and loving every moment of it. Even the hard ones. 

I’ll admit, at first I thought it was just hormones. Puberty took over and started confusing my head. What other explanation could there be? The first time I ever got a stiffy over a girl--not randomly while I brushed my teeth or played with my fucking matchbox cars--was when I saw my own sister climb out of the pool in her tropical print one-piece. We were both nine.

I knew that had to be wrong, so I kept quiet and silently cursed my budding body for not distinguishing one female from another. I steered clear of Cersei as much as I could and did whatever possible to seem normal. Seriously. I made a good faith effort to stay out of her pants. Don’t believe me? I was barely eleven when I had my first porn subscription,  _ Deep Dicking Dornish Dames.  _

Looking back on it, I think I was trying to find the antithesis of Cersei to dish my spunk to. Life gets really fucked, really fast when you grow up worrying that you’re some sort of sexual deviant. You find all sorts of smut that goes beyond your tastes and can put you off sex all together--except with the one person you can trust. 

Honestly, father forcing us on stage was a blessing to me. I know she hated it, but I appreciated the distraction. It helped me feel normal, if that makes any sense. It was like,  _ ‘See? They wouldn’t let me on stage in front of the masses if I was a sicko.’ _

Although, now I know that it’s usually the most screwed up ones that they put on their pedestals. Just watch VH1 Behind the Music or any of the bajillions of movies based on bands and artists out there. Everyone feigns shock when they find out that their idol was a predator in disguise the whole time. 

That was part of what did it, in the end. What made me snap and throw years of self-restraint away. She was a fucking siren in disguise as my twin sister. Every night, she would call to me without even knowing it. Images of her from the day would flood into my head and tent the damn blanket. And then one night her call was too loud and too persistent to ignore. She was dancing around in my shirt--a habit she had gotten into--and when she lifted her arms I got an eye full of her bare pussy. 

I froze. 

My mind raced, processing all she was telling me without saying a single word. Flashing her snatch promised she had the same urges I did, and condoned what I had been reliving every night in fantasy.  _ It’s alright _ , her smile assured me. _ You can touch me, _ her eyes allowed. _ I want it too _ , her giggle goaded. 

And then I pounced.

I stopped seeing the word,  _ Sister _ , flashing above her head and instead saw her for who she was. A stunning beauty with long blond hair that shone like gold in the sun--still does, her legs long and lean, her tits lush and round and made to fit perfectly in my hands, and don’t even get me started on that ass. Let’s just say, there’s a reason why doggie is my favorite position. 

But it’s always been more than sex. She has a smile that lights up the whole world when it reaches her gorgeous green eyes. That’s how I know it’s not just hormones. Not just my dick doing me dirty and hounding any poon available. It’s because while I’m always trying to fuck her, I find myself trying to make her smile too. 

_ That was yesterday. _

_ And today’s long gone by. _

_ There’s nowhere else for me, _

_ But by your side! _

_ Thinkin’-- _

_ ‘At least we have forever left!’ _

That we do. 

We have forever, because I’ll never,  _ ever  _ let her go. Our fate was sealed that night. I’ll always remember the way her legs quivered as I touched her for the very first time. Her eyes big and wide as I brushed my fingertips over her slick lips, gaining courage to slide between them. I lost my virginity taking hers. She had no idea what she had started--what she had gotten us into. How could she possibly know what I had been battling for years? The moment I felt the very last bit of her innocence tear and break away, was the same exact moment that I knew I could never fuck anyone else--or let her. 

Sadly, that ship has sailed.

The Robbie Express. 

While you would think I would be more upset about it, oddly I’m not. A man can bear almost anything if he must. Perhaps it’s because I know it was disappointing to say the least. Though, it’s probably because I took a page out of my father’s book and saw it for what it meant to me: Leverage. 

At first, I was so pissed off that I actually invited a dumb dolly back to my place as a means of playing the jealousy game with Cers. When the girl failed to charm my cobra, I planned to use the NDA she signed to silence her. Still trying to salvage my little plan for vengeance, I fully intended to use her silence and the fact that we left together to look like I actually had drained my balls in her that night as opposed to against the shower wall, where I was certain I would. Anything to rile Cersei even just a fraction as much as she had me. Seeing her on my doorstep, however, offered me the chance to hold something over her head. 

Which also felt fucking great.

Until that awful night, Cersei only rode my cock because she was comfortable with me and decidedly less so with everyone else. I know she loves me, always has and always will, but she still fought our true feelings. Every so often she would proclaim that we would eventually have to start fucking other people--usually whenever she felt as if we were becoming too ‘coupley.’ I always gave her a smile and a nod to play along because I could see she wasn’t ready. She had no idea what I had decided on our first night as I grabbed my Van Halen shirt from the floor--still warm from when she wore it--and cleaned her blood from my cock.

TMI, I know. Still, you get the point. 

My sister needed a push.

_ Forever and yesterday! _

Chills shiver down my spine at the timbre of her voice as she belts out the chorus. Her hands clutch the headphones, keeping them from falling off as she leans back and sings her heart out. This is our ballad, our love song, a testament to all that we’ve endured; secret love, a sleazy lead singer set on coming between us, not to mention our father’s exploitation of us--of her.

It feels like so long ago now, but it was only months ago when Cersei and I lay in the dark on the back of one of our tour buses. The windows were steamed up in the little bedroom and there was a thick sheen of sweat on both of us after I had just given her quite the spanking/fucking for smiling back at Robbie over dinner. I hated that she humored that bastard. I told her not to bother with the bullshit father and Tyrion were on about. But did she listen? No. While she didn’t spread her legs--I made sure of that--she definitely turned the charm back on. 

It was disgusting. And it made her sicker than she already was--but I’ll get to that in a minute. 

Her fingers played with my hair, tickling the tips of it over my chest. I closed my eyes and practically purred at the sensation. I loved having her alone, all to myself. No more fake smiles, no more show. Just us. Her touch and my need. 

Her voice was quiet--careful even, as she said, “I think I might have a way out of all this.”

A way out of the shitty corner she was backed into-- _ we  _ were backed into, because let's be real here, any situation she’s in, so am I. “I’m all ears,” I said back, wanting to know what she was cooking up.

If it was anything close to what I already had brewing…

“Robbie doesn’t want me,” she said, thankfully without an ounce of heartache over that fact. I bit back a smile because it was rude to gloat over how good it feels to have her full interest. “He’s only being such a pain in the ass because I’m the only chick resisting him.” 

I ran a hand through my hair and let my smile slip because it had turned much less jovial. “If you’re suggesting you stop, then you’re going to have to keep working those problem-solving skills of yours, Sunshine.”

She rolled her eyes at me, as if to say,  _ haha, you think you’re so funny _ . Then her hand went to her flat belly and a crease formed on her brow, as if she was deep in thought. “What if he knocked me up?”

I didn’t pause. I didn’t stop to think about it, even though I knew I should. Because, you see, there was a reason she was asking me that. With Cersei, there’s always a reason. “You’re not fucking him again and that’s final,” I spat, as expected. 

Her palm flattened on my chest to hold me down. 

_ Nice try, Sunshine.  _ I got up on my elbows to cut her a warning glare. 

“Hopefully, I won’t have to,” she said quickly.

A low growl rumbled in the back of my throat. Even just the suggestion of it had me losing control. I couldn’t have that, so I sat up to make like I was looking for my pants. I obviously wasn’t because the truth is, I had been waiting for that. Okay, maybe not this exactly, but something similar. I know, I’m confusing you. Don’t worry, I’ll be out with it in just a moment. 

Cersei slid into my lap, straddling me, using her whole weight to keep me down. I could have gotten up if I wanted, but holding her naked to me always feels too good to pass up. My hands went to her hips and I made a real good show of looking as though she was in charge. 

“I won’t, okay?” She furrowed her brow. “You’ll just have to help me get a little creative…” 

I inhaled through my nostrils, looking properly put out as I dug my digits into the plump ass I love so much. “Out with it, Cers.” 

“Men like Robbie don’t want to deal with kids,” she said, determinedly. “Men like father don’t either.” 

So true. 

I knew that she was expecting me to get weirded out because she was quick to shimmy herself closer, as if touch alone was enough to keep me under her thumb. She was right, of course. I’ll be under her  _ anything,  _ so long as it means I get to keep burying my nose in her hair each night. I’ve got no shame, never have when it comes to her. 

She pressed her core against my bare cock--which most definitely rose to the occasion--as she plotted, “Think about it, Jaime. A baby would stop both of those fuckers from bothering us.” 

“Us?” 

_ You and I, we’ve had them all, _

_ The hope of more  _

_ And the mem-or-y of less,  _

_ Forever and yesterday!  _

Her hand went to my heart and she started playing me. At least a little. “I’m done with the limelight. I’m done with our father calling all the shots. I won’t have to deal with it anymore if I’m a mom. No more tours, no more concerts, no more after-parties.”

“A mom?” Like the greedy shithead I am, I lifted my hips a little to glide my shaft over her nub and watch her eyes flutter as I pushed her a little further. “I’m hearing an awful lot about you and not that much about us.” 

“Oh, it’s us, Jaime,” she promised. “It’s only us.”

“Tell me how.” I need to hear her say it.

“I’d rather show you.” Her hands went to my shoulders as she braced herself to hover over my cock. Her eyes met mine as she lowered herself, enveloping me with her slick heat. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip to let me know how good I felt inside her. 

I made a show of looking conflicted by adding a touch of strain to my voice when I pointed out the obvious, “I need a condom.” 

“No, don’t.” She shook her head. 

I pulled a confused look. “What?” 

She pumped my cock a couple of times, riding slowly, savoring each slide down. “Give me a baby, Jaime.” 

“Are you mad?” I asked, because I was supposed to. This was all going according to plan. Well, plan B. The first plan didn’t have my father meddling. 

“If I’m going to get knocked up, it’s not going to be with Robbie’s kid.” Her forehead pressed against mine. “Fuck that.”

I didn’t bother to point out that inbreeding is a bad idea, because I didn’t want her to think about it too hard and change her mind. It’s not like she could anyway, but she didn’t know that at the time. Instead, I just gritted through my teeth, “Your mistake happened weeks ago, Sunshine.” 

She lifted her face off of mine and I loathed the loss of contact, until she flipped her hair back and moaned, “I don’t care.” She pressed her tits in my face and I had no choice but to lick and suck everything in front of me like it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. It’s obviously not, because her pussy is what takes the cake, but that’s beside the point. When my woman offers her tits up to me, I’ll gladly worship them. 

Cersei rolled her hips forward and gasped. “As soon as you put a bun in this oven, we’ll drug him at a party or something--make him think we did it.” 

I bit the swell of her breast in retaliation for the very suggestion that she would ever screw him again. If the world wasn’t such a fucked up place, we wouldn’t even need the pretense. 

“Ow!”

I kissed it better for her because I always will. 

“I know you don’t like it,” she said, slowing down to catch my eye. “But it would fix everything. Once I reveal I’m pregnant, he’ll-”

“Fuck right off,” I finished for her, fisting her hair. 

“Yesss,” she hissed. 

I took advantage of this small amount of control and flipped us over, pinning her underneath me. Her legs always feel best wrapped around me, the creamy insides of her thighs rubbing along my hips and waist, urging me to fuck harder and deeper. Naturally, I was happy to oblige. 

I bucked into her, rearing up to say what I had only ever said in my dreams, “I’m gonna fill you so full of cum, you’ll be drowning in it.” 

Her eyes fluttered shut and her brows wrinkled in an almost pained expression as she begged, “Yes, do it!” 

I couldn’t help myself. I let my act drop a little, forgetting my plan for a hot second. Too overcome with this new level of sexy, I grabbed her chin to make her look at me as I thrust. “You’re mine, do you understand? If you carry my kid, you’re mine forever.” 

_ We share moments _

_ Good and bad _

_ Big and small _

_ In the sands of time _

_ Eclipsing everything else _

Her eyes went black as she considered what I was saying. There really wasn’t anything to think about, but I gave her that moment to feel like she had a choice. She’s mine no matter what, she just needed reminding. A little blond-haired, green-eyed kid will be a constant reminder. 

I can’t fucking wait. 

To hell with the albums. 

Screw touring. 

I’m done with the shitty after parties filled with money-hungry dollies.

Cersei and I are already tied together forever, our baby will just knot that shit up so that I’m the only man she’ll ever think of again.

I look now at father standing off behind the glass with Tyrion. They’re always around, planning how best to capitalize. Let them. For the most part, we’re out of the spotlight and things are lowkey. They both talk about money and music while Cersei sings her heart out. Her hand goes to the large swell of her belly as she slides off the stool and gently sways from one foot the other. 

My, how far we’ve come. 

_ Forever and yesterday!  _

The baby seems to like it when she sings to him and they dance. (I join in sometimes when no one’s around and it’s our private time together.) She catches me watching her and she gives me a wink when the sound engineer is looking down at all his switches. He’s doing his job, bobbing his head to the melody, making sure everything’s good. 

I flash her a smile that is entirely genuine because life is fucking fantastic right now. Cersei is seven months pregnant with what will be the first of many little Jaimes together, if I have any say in it. Robbie B--the waste of skin--was stupid enough to think it was his, as predicted. Tyrion got to spin a different story, one about how Cersei reformed from her former bad-girl rockstar self to full time single mom going it all alone. I will give my brother this, he definitely made her out to be a martyr and that set the stage--no pun intended--for her solo album. Desperate single moms, sad lonely housewives, and basically every woman out there who’s ever felt wronged by a man line up for Cersei’s new album entitled,  _ My Pride. _

While it’s not my album, I’m still happier than a pig in shit for three reasons: One, I get to play the part of the supportive brother through all of this, which gives me more access to her than usual. And I got to kick Robbie’s ass. It was splashed all over the news,  _ Storm’s End Lead Singer Turned DeadBeat Dad, Dealt Beatdown by Golden God of Rock!  _ Haha. No joke. There’s even camera footage of me going after him at a club, screaming that he fucked over my sister. He got a couple of hits in, and he’s got a mean right hook, I’ll give him that. But I’m faster. 

Reason number three, is that so far to this day, Cersei still hasn’t figured out what I’ve done. Have you? No? Time to show you my hand: 

I trapped her. 

_ Oh, forever and yesterday! _

Honest to God. Go ahead and call me a bag of dicks if it makes you feel any better. The fact is, I knocked her up long before I was supposed to and she can never find out that it was entirely intentional. I told you, Cersei needed a push, and I always give my girl exactly what she needs. Sure, most days, I play the fun-loving twin without a care in the world because I’ve got a cock so people listen to me. But, beneath all that is just half of a person, needing the other half to complete him. 

We’ve covered this. I’m just repeating myself at this point. You know how much I need her and how unwilling I am to lose her. So, let me tell you something you don’t know. 

Cersei found herself in a situation--one I put her in--and freaked out, like I knew she would. Then she tried to cover it up by fooling me--also like I knew she would. Still not following? 

Ok, let’s slow down and rewind back to that night I gave the ginger dolly the boot. Cersei’s mascara is all fucked as she stands before me reeking of that pig. I’m so filled with hate, that I can barely look at her, let alone smell her. I can’t bear to cast her aside, so I do the only other thing I can think and strip her down and wash her. Every article of clothing she lets me remove, helps soothe the raage bubbling beneath the surface. The soapy washcloth promises a fresh start, a way to get past the pain of knowing she was in someone else’s arms--around someone else’s cock.

That right there was all it took. That thought, that knowledge. I slid inside her completely bare and not giving a single shit about the consequences. She let me too. 

In that single, solitary moment, I mattered enough to her to forget about all the what-ifs that always governed us. 

I made demands because I felt like a god. Why not be just as unreasonable as one? Cersei likes to hold all the power, and I let her because I know she needs it. But right then, I took a break from being so fucking accommodating for a change. From being so patient, as if I have all the time in the world for my lover to get her head out of her ass and realize that we are all there is for one another. It’s exhausting being so good all the time. Follow father’s rules, give Tyrion the benefit of the doubt, put my sister’s needs above my own, laugh at Bronn’s jokes, sing for the crowd, dance on stage, work out three hours a day, sign another pair of tits! 

No. I was sick of being good. Good wasn’t getting me anywhere. It just left me forsaking one vow for another. So I let the beast inside me out--you know the one. It’s inside all of you. Some are bigger than others, meaner. Mine’s pretty shitty so I shove it down and refuse to let it out. But that night, I broke it’s chains.

_ Whatever we face _

_ We do so together _

_ From the first to the last _

_ Beginning to the end _

If I didn’t know any better, I would say Cersei loved that horny devil more than me. The way it made me paw at her, had me ramming into her as if I could break her in half. I was not kind or gentle, I did not put her pleasure first. 

I took. 

I took absolutely everything and gave her no choice but to let me. And to my utter surprise, she fucking lost it. She was like a banshee, bucking and gyrating on my cock, with what was probably the best orgasm of her life. It only served to tease the beast and my grip tightened on her thighs leaving bruises I’m definitely not sorry for. When I came, I downright roared. I’d never been that vocal before, not even in our soundproofed studio. I barely recognized myself, but the curve of her lips afterward told me she liked who she saw. 

That would only last so long. We’ve been over this, Cersei has control issues. And I guess, judging by the way I let myself go, so do I. As she slept soundly, I considered the consequences of what we had just done, considered the possibility of pregnancy. What it would do to her, to us. At some point in this contemplation, I stopped thinking of what it would do  _ to  _ us, and started thinking of what it would do  _ for  _ us. The next morning, I knew by the way she sucked my cock under a bowl of Fruity Pebbles that she wanted to take the lead again. But, I wasn’t sure I was ready to give all the power from the night before up just yet.

_ Forever and yesterday! _

As she teased me all morning, refusing to touch me before we left back for the tour, humoring me with movers, I made a decision. I would do whatever I had to in order to keep her all to myself. Knocking her up would certainly do that. So, I did--without her knowledge or consent. 

Yes, I’m a prick. I know. 

A very happy prick who sleeps quite soundly each night beside a beautiful woman that will never stray from my side again. I will change diapers and sing lullabies and let her hog the blankets for the rest of my life and never complain once. To this day, I remain completely and utterly unrepentant about what I did for us. For me. 

How did I do it, you ask?

Easy. 

I developed a kink. Or, at least, I let Cersei think I did. Aftercare. You see, every time we fucked, I reached down and slipped the condom off. I know--dick move. And no, I don’t condone this in regular circumstances, where it’s not exactly the honorable thing to do. But, Cersei and I aren’t the honorable sort, and desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, she’s clearly not above using a baby either, since she eventually suggested it when things looked dire enough. 

I’m getting ahead of myself. Focus, Jaime. 

Okay, so yeah. That’s what I did. To keep her from realizing my cum was dripping out of her, I started cleaning her up afterward. I made it seem like taking care of her like that did it for me, which honestly isn’t that far off the mark. Wiping her clean is kind of special. I highly doubt she let that doughy dumb fuck Robbie take care of her pussy after. No--we’re not going to travel down that particular train of thought. 

The song’s over and she’s listening to the engineer speak to her through her headphones. My jaw ticks as I fight the urge to take her right now at just the memory of how I managed to get one over on her. There’s too many people here and she would only get annoyed if I interrupt her quest for perfection.

I draw a deep breath and think back to the dinner that I never received an invitation for--conveniently. Cersei was busy tossing her cookies as Tyrion and I argued.

Well, I was arguing on the outside, but inside, I was ecstatic, ready to shout from the rooftops in jubilee. She had no idea what was going on at that point, of course, and truth be told, I could only hope. When she kept getting sick--and was absolute shit at hiding it because she can’t hide anything from me--and hadn’t had her period, I knew all my _ hard work _ came to fruition.

Oh come on, that pun was funny. 

Anyway, she started to freak--like I knew she would. Cersei had just been thrown a curve ball so she started to spin her wheels. In her panic, it never once occurred to her that if she just came to me and told me straight out, that we would figure it out together. Not that I expected her to. Instead, she got it in her head that I was going to freak even harder than she was. Because I’m just as young and unprepared as her. Because I’ve never mentioned wanting kids--hell, once I even threatened to push a girl down the stairs if she were ever knocked up with my kid… Also because we’re fucking sibs. No way was I supposed to want this with her. 

But she wants this with me, no matter what lies she’s told herself. Don’t believe me? She could have aborted this baby quickly and quietly if she wanted to. Instead, she spun her wheels concocting a plan to keep it--and me. 

Which, let me just say right now that if men were prone to swooning, I’d need you to splash some water in my face. 

I’ve never felt so fucking validated in my life. 

And horny. 

Legit, seeing her go through all that inner turmoil for us had me walking around with a permanent hard-on just aching for the chance to pop off. Of course, I had to act aloof, which was annoying, but it all worked out in the end. 

My clever girl used the predicament Tyrion and our father put us in as the perfect excuse. I had only fucked her bare once--that she knew of--since she hatched this plan before she was exclaiming she was pregnant. Cersei’s got no chill. She even said that we wouldn’t have to drug Robbie and make it look like they banged again, because he was too stupid to understand math and probably wouldn’t be counting weeks. 

I knew the truth, though. It’s because she was already pregnant close enough to that shitty night that she could get away with blaming it on Robbie. We lucked out on that one for sure. Is it still luck if I was behind the scenes pulling the strings? Or, the condom, rather? 

I nodded my head, playing stupid and accompanied her to her first ultrasound--as the supportive brother, stepping in for her ‘ex.’ When the technician told us what we both knew, Cersei feigned surprise and said that it must have been that night. I put on a good show, though. 

“I swear to sweet fuck, Cers. If you lied to me about playing it safe with dick face, then you can just fuck right off!” 

“Screw you, Jaime!” She slapped my chest.

I let her get that hit in because it didn’t hurt and I love it when she touches me. The affronted look on her face was priceless and I’ll admit, I took some sick pleasure in it. “No thanks, wouldn’t want to poke dents in Robbie Jr.’s head. That kid’s gonna need all the brain cells it’s got.”

“Shut up,” she growled. “You know it’s not his.”

“Do I?” I challenged--because I suck. 

She pursed her lips and she inhaled before she leaned in and told me what we both knew--me more than her, “You’re the one who hasn’t been bagging it.” 

“Only recently,” I lied. 

I got away with it too, because she didn’t contradict me. Instead, she cocked her head and locked eyes with me as she took us back to that night. “And once before--if you recall.”

I stood still, gazing back at her, taking my time to let her think it was finally dawning on me. I even parted my lips a little and widened my eyes. Where’s my fucking Academy Award? I probably would have started laughing if I tried to say anything, so playing it safe, I just lunged forward and scooped her up in my arms. I crushed her to me as I pecked kisses at the side of her head and whispered, “It’s mine. Holy shit. It’s mine!”

All the muscles in her body relaxed as she melted into my embrace, a soft chuckle on her lips. “Of course it’s yours. I could never have anyone else’s.”

Too right, Sis. I don’t even want to think about what I would do to ensure that. 

The things I do for love... 

So that’s that, in a nutshell. After a terrible mistake, tricking everyone around us--men will read all sorts of things into a knowing smile if you let them--and a carefully planned scandal, Cersei and I are finally free to be together. 

That’s not to say we didn’t face some repercussions for our decisions. Father was of course furious that she could ‘be so stupid.’ That was until Robbie’s manager called threatening legal action for defamation of character. Apparently, abandoning a chick he knocked up wasn’t exactly a good look for Robbie. Storm’s End was on break so it wasn’t screwing album sales other than their older shit. But they did have a couple of tracks pulled from a compilation album for the top rock bands of the year. That must have stung a bit. Of course, because I got to play protective brother, I was sure to twist the knife during another Margaery Tyrell interview by saying, “I mean, I know that fucking comes with the gig, but maybe Storm’s End should keep it in their pants. First their bassist with his illegitimate bastard and now their lead singer leaving my sister in the lurch.”

Margaery was only too ready to lunch up on that comment, asking, “So it’s true? Cersei Lannister, bassist from Rampant, and your twin sister is pregnant with Robbie B’s love child?” 

“I wouldn’t say it was love,” I said on a chuckle. Maybe it’s because I know I have her locked down now, I’m not sure, but I find myself less and less agitated over the memory of them together and the insecurity it fostered in me. Those days feel like so long ago now, that I can finally smile a little easier. “More like lust and when shit got real, he booked it for the hills.” 

They bleeped out my profanity for the third time and I flashed a dimple in an insincere apology.

“Is that why you attacked him at that night club?” She asked, carrying on, practically salivating at all the gossip to spread. Needless to say, her ratings skyrocketed. 

I gave her a glare to show her I didn’t appreciate the word ‘attacked.’ Talk about bad press. “No one fucks over my sister. He gets to go on and live his life as if nothing happened and Cersei is stuck holding the bag. No way could I let him get away with that.” The crowd started to judge. Some were of the ‘it takes two to tango’ mindset and others of the ‘yeah, get that deadbeat fucker!’ I gave everyone a grin and shrugged my shoulders. “Rock and Roll isn’t all Please and Thank Yous. It gets messy and mean sometimes and family always comes first.” 

And then the whole front row gasped and fell out of their shirts. Well, okay maybe they didn’t exactly fall out of their shirts, but they were definitely hunched over, fluffing their assets up for me. Score one for family values and badass brothers. I could practically see the dollar signs in father’s eyes. Groupies have always been the best way to get a reading on a crowd--on revenue. The fans were backing us. 

He definitely shut the hell up after that. Secretly, I think he liked going toe to toe with John Arryn. In the end, father won. Did you really see any other outcome? Storm’s End’s break has gone on longer than initially anticipated. They are currently looking for a new lead singer--Robbie B hasn’t shown his face around since the paparazzi published pictures of him fat and bloated in a drive thru, supersizing his order. If you’re interested, the article also had a testimony from one of the fast food servers saying that Robbie had a girl in the car with him at the time and he insisted she order off the dollar menu…

So yeah, draw your own conclusions there people. 

As a last ditch effort to save face, Jon suggested that Cersei and Robbie play house for the next few months until the baby comes and then they could cite the stress of the newborn for their split. I started forming my argument while father and Tyrion deliberated, not the slightest bit alright with Cersei spending even just one night under that fat fuck’s roof. 

Luckily, I never had to say a word, because father was feeling particularly vicious at the time. He knew he had Jon on the racks and was bleeding him dry. Father is not the most gracious winner, either. If he had seen a great enough benefit to putting Cersei through such a facade, he definitely would have forced her to, but apparently he hadn’t. Instead, he laughed at Arryn and told him that in no way shape or form would his client profit off of the shitty situation he placed his daughter in. Ever the protective father--when it suits him. 

Which, honestly, is fine. Because it also suits me. Cersei and I share my Kingslanding home and have placed an offer on an old English castle in Casterly Rock that we plan to renovate. No one is batting an eyelash, either. They all just figure family is sticking together through a hard time, and I’m coming off as a saint for forgoing women in order to let my sister move in with me. It couldn’t have worked out more perfectly than if I had planned it--oh wait, I sort of did, didn’t I? 

We even have MTV cribs showing up to check out the house. We furnished a spare bedroom to look like hers, to keep everyone fooled, of course. 

Sorry if this is jarring to you. I know, no one expects this shit from me, but look what I was up against. Put yourself in my shoes for a heartbeat and tell me you wouldn’t have done the same. 

Her tongue tickling my ear as she says, “Let’s go home and take a bath,” is all the validation I need to know I made the right choice and fuck anyone who says otherwise.


End file.
